


i'm just a shadow of your throne, one that you cast out alone

by junipersand



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abandonment, Abuse, Angst, Betrayal, Confinement, Eventual happy ending... maybe?, Familiar!AU, Fuck Canon, Hunters, Identity Issues, Kidnapping, Pain, VERY not canon compliant, badlands-centric, bbh-centric, did i mention pain?, dream is a bad person, everyone has a spirit animal, manhunters-centric, pure p a i n, yes there's lore for manhunts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:20:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27698891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junipersand/pseuds/junipersand
Summary: Bad's life revolved around serving Dream. Dream's safety is absolute - even if it means sacrificing all his friendships, and even his own life. It's the life of a familiar, where humans will reign supreme over them. They were nothing but animals - caged things that lived only to serve. But even a tamed lion could only last so long without reaching its breaking point. The same goes for a demon who's been living off scraps of acknowledgement from an evil god, and he'd exhausted the last of his patience.
Relationships: BadBoyHalo/Pain and Suffering, Clay | Dream & Darryl Noveschosch, Zak Ahmed & Darryl Noveschosch
Comments: 102
Kudos: 414





	1. Chapter 1

In a world with familiars, there’s only so many limits one can reach. Eagle familiars brought their humans to soar the skies, and turtle familiars brought their humans to explore the deep seas. Everybody had magic, just in the form of a furry friend, or a scaled mentor, or vice versa.

With familiars, humans have learned peace, learning to accept differences and embrace each other’s odd quirks. Society was peaceful, as uniqueness was paraded and applauded, whilst the norm were satisfied and happy with the serenity of their world.

That is, unless you’re part of the Dream SMP.

Tommy, the troublemaker of the world, wreaking havoc across the land with his familiar eagle. Like his human, the crowned eagle squawked and relished every moment of destruction they caused. His feathers were red, speckled with gold that shimmered under the sun whenever it flew, or when it sat dutifully on Tommy’s shoulder, pecking at anyone who got too close. He was far too small to carry Tommy in the air, but his human loved him nonetheless.

Tubbo, the troublemaker’s partner in crime, had a familiar that was smaller in size. A bee with brilliant yellow and black stripes. She loved to nestle into her human’s hair whenever he talked about drugs and burning houses. She and the eagle were good friends, just like their humans. Even if they were completely different species and had a visible size difference, it didn’t hinder their friendship one bit.

George, the third-in-command of the world, slept through every major event with his familiar: a tabby cat. Nobody knew whether if his laziness was of his own accord or it was an influence from his familiar – but it didn’t matter, because George slept through three wars and everyone was placing bets on how late he’s going to show up to the next one.

Sapnap, second-in-command, infamous for the amount of innocent pet blood that stained his hands. With his familiar, an eastern wolf with fur the color of coal, they cackled as they pushed another pet into a lava-filled ravine. Though, due to a duel with Tommy and his eagle, they agreed that he would stop terrorizing the poor animals, and came to a truce. He was passive, for now, but he seemed against the notion of harming another pet.

Wilbur, the former president of L’Manburg, now deceased, is accompanied with his ghostly familiar, a nightingale. Their spirits still haunt the land he used to rule, overlooking their friends that worked day and night to rebuild their home. Sometimes, the residents of L’Manburg could hear the faint hum of guitar and a song of chirps under their land, and they would kick on Wilbur’s door and ask him to shut the hell up, because it’s three in the morning and some of them need sleep.

Fundy, the infamous mechanic and prankster of the world, replaced every furnace in Sapnap’s house with smokers alongside his trusty familiar, a fox. How fitting, but at the same time, ironic. Their nature was meant to be one with Loki, as they were ruthless with their pranks and harmless, albeit irritating inconveniences.

The rest of the world lived in harmony with their familiars, and they rarely crossed paths with each other’s factions, so there were no wars for nearly a year… until the Familiar War came to exist.

The Familiar War was a simple yet complicated one. The reason why the war began in the first place was because Ponk nearly killed Sam’s familiar, a miniature creeper. It took place by the border of the Badlands, of which Ponk had been forbidden to cross. To enter Badlands would be to violate the agreement; and adding to the fact that Sam nearly suffered an unrecoverable loss, it waged war and controversy against every nation.

The first conflict took place between Manburg and L’Manburg. The two nations that were branches of the original, but split into halves as their leaders did not see eye-to-eye. It was a battle between four people, with a problem that could only be solved with violence. If you light a tree aflame, the forest was bound to follow. Tommy and Tubbo against Quackity and Karl, the four former friends leering at the opposing side as they charged into battle, swords and axes raised.

With more experience than the two, the younger duo emerged victorious, but it was at a price. A price that no one dared to pay, nor they had seen coming. The fate that their familiars would be subjected in harm’s way. Karl’s familiar, a bright bronze husky, whimpered on the floor as a deep cut ran along its belly. It’d pushed Karl aside just before Tommy’s sword could end Karl’s life. Karl knelt by his familiar, sobbing and holding the husky close to him, begging for help, help for his familiar.

Tommy, having realized what he’d done, stood in place, shock rooting him to one spot. He stared at his sword that was stained with blood, not belonging to his enemy but a familiar’s. If it wasn’t for his eagle nudging his leg with a wing, he would have remained frozen forever. He quickly snapped out of his stupor and dropped the sword as if it were burning coals, the weapon falling to the ground in loud clanks.

Tubbo was quick to react, however. He swooped in to the injured familiar, and began applying potions to the husky’s wounds. Healing potions, regeneration potions, even golden apples—in the end, Tubbo depleted his supply, but the familiar was safe, without any serious injuries that would take his life.

The battle ended with a somber note. Tommy couldn’t meet Karl’s eyes just as Karl couldn’t meet his. Tubbo cradled his bee close to his chest and Quackity hugged his duck close to him. They parted and went their separate ways, back to their nation, but there was no victor in that battle. The four of them were the losers. Losers for bringing their familiars into their conflicts; losers for ever bringing harm to one of them.

No matter how intense their wars would get, familiars were never to be harmed. This battle was done, but the war was far from over.

It wasn’t just the two nations suffering from yet another civil war, either. Team Chaos began quarreling amongst themselves, as two of their members’ familiars wounded each other by accident. With the threat of their familiars nearly facing death by another human lingering in the air, not even the sturdiest of nations could rest easy. George returned to his room to see his familiar’s paw bleeding, and Sapnap called to his familiar to see a cut by its eye.

Usually, these would be considered scratches that were caused in rough playdates, but the atmosphere of the world had set them off. George stormed to Sapnap and Sapnap retaliated, resulting in a physical brawl that their teammates had to break up. Sapnap, face red with loud huffs, glowered at George as he was held back by Dream. He screamed profanities and death threats at the Brit, who responded with equal venom in his tone. Despite their familiars trying to calm their humans down, they did not listen.

From that day onwards, their familiars daren’t look at each other since. Only a white parrot, Punz’s familiar, could negate their sorrow as she helped them communicate by relaying each other’s messages. Familiars were intelligent, after all – they knew when their humans were upset and when they needed to stay put.

The conflicts continued. Whether it be a petty argument or a full-scale fight, they spread throughout the world like wildfire. Eret and his red panda ran into trouble with Purpled and his falcon because of a misunderstanding. Punz and his parrot nearly avoided death from Technoblade and his hellhound of a hog. Skeppy and his raccoon barely survived after Schlatt and his ram pushed him into a ravine. Niki and her dove managed to escape Ponk and his deranged bat after he mistook her dove as his experimental birds. Despite the events being unrelated to one another, it fanned the flames of paranoia and fear like gasoline to a housefire.

Fear was a strong emotion. It drives people to commit atrocities that they would never otherwise do. It drives people insane and makes them see things that aren’t there. If used right, leaders can grasp full control of their power. If left unchecked, then chaos will run rampant. The fires that they lit to light their homes can be turned into a weapon that tears everything apart.

The different nations lived in constant distrust towards one another. Not just towards their enemies, but towards their comrades as well. They held their familiars close whenever they walked past a familiar face. They forbade their familiars from interacting from anyone else or even letting them out of their sight. It was strange, the protective nature that belonged to humans. The possessive behavior that would follow in hopes that nothing would happen to the thing they guarded so dearly.

Throughout all of this, all of the pulsing chaos that waited to be unleashed, was a leader that saw it all. A leader with a clear head that was not manipulated by the heavy atmosphere. Enter Dream, the silent ruler of the Dream SMP. You may be asking, why? Why _Dream_ , out of all the people in the world, be unaffected?

It’s simple. It was because he was accompanied by no familiars. With a clear head and clean eyes, he knew he had to put a stop to all of this madness as soon as possible. Otherwise, the world will be torn apart by the biggest war known to mankind, and there will be no survivors left amongst the ruined lands that were once fertile and lifeful.

Dream rested his cheek on his palm, glancing at the moved chessboard. He moved a piece towards the enemy side and knocked the queen over, planting the piece firmly where the queen once stood. A maniacal grin spread across his face.

But then again, war does sound tempting.

In the early morning, Tubbo yawned and stretched his sore limbs as he woke from his sleep. He giggled drowsily as his bee nuzzled his face, the hum of its wings like melody to his ears. “Morning, Spoons!” he drawled, flopping off the bed and dragging himself to the bathroom.

He followed his usual routine: brush his teeth, go to the loo, take a quick shower and throw on his clothes. Then he would head over to Tommy’s house to have breakfast together, but he needed to wake the younger up first. Making his way to Tommy’s room, he opened the wooden door and allowed the light to shine in. Tommy’s eagle, that slept on a perch, opened its eyes immediately and squawked at its owner. Tommy threw his pillow at it that it ducked with ease.

After managing to get Tommy into fresh clothes, they headed towards the kitchen and made themselves a quick meal of oatmeal and orange juice. Orange juice was heavenly; anyone who said otherwise deserved a death sentence. Their familiars ate by them, with Tommy’s eagle, Henry ripping away bits of raw meat with its beak and Spoons snaking on nectar and pollen from a pile of roses. It was peaceful, for the most part, a moment of calmness before they left to fulfil their duties as the presidents of their nation.

A piece of parchment landed in their yard. Henry’s sharp eyes caught it and went to retrieve the mail. It scooped up the rolled parchment with its claws and flew back from the window, dropping it between the two humans.

“What’s this?” Tommy asked, mouth full of oatmeal. Chewing, he went for the parchment, opening the scroll with a swift and fluid motion. His eyes scanned the first few paragraphs, frowning.

Tubbo tilted his head, unable to see the message as he sat across Tommy. Tommy swallowed the cereal and downed it with more juice. “What is it?” he asked. “Read it to me.”

“Um,” Tommy stammered, already closing the scroll after setting his cup down. “You’re not going to like this, Tubbo. Really, it’s too early to be reading anyways. We can talk about this later—”

Tubbo was frowning now. “Tommy, read it to me.”

The two familiars stopped their eating and turned to their humans. They’d sensed their shift in emotions.

Tommy sighed. “Fine,” he relented, opening the scroll again. He turned back to the scroll and cleared his throat.

_“To the residents of the Dream SMP—”_

“ _—it has come to my attention that there has been disputes over the matters of familiars_ ,” Quackity read aloud, glancing at his president to check for any sign of hostility. His duck sat worriedly in his jacket, not making a sound. Schlatt sat at his desk, motioning for his vice-president to continue. Quackity released a shaky breath, then went over more of the letter.

“ _This type of behavior has severely affected the relationships between the nations, and the results will be catastrophic_ ,” Bad read to Skeppy, Ant and Sam, who were all pausing from cereal and omelets. Skeppy poured maple syrup into Sam’s coffee, which induced incoherent cursing from the engineer. Bad shot them a look and when they were ready to listen, he continued while Sam wiped syrup from his pants.

“ _To settle these ‘disagreements’, we will handle our problems like how we handled our past ones_ ,” George read, glaring at the piece of parchment. Sapnap and Punz turned to each other with concerned glances. Their mouths opened to demand answers from the Brit, but the look in his eye prompted them to let him finish. George clenched his teeth and prayed he read the letter wrong.

“ _On the night of the full moon, when your familiars are at their strongest_ —” Tommy read, voice tense.

“— _where they will lend you their strength_ —” Techno crumpled the piece of parchment and tossed it behind him.

“— _we will decide the victor_ —” Quackity’s voice shook as the veins on Schlatt’s began to pop on his forehead.

“ _—with one singular, old-fashioned war_ ,” Bad concluded, leaning back on his seat as his friends stared at him wide-eyed. He put his hand on his mouth and shrunk into his seat, pulling at his hood while his friends exploded into a variety of emotion.

Skeppy snatched the parchment from Bad’s table and read it himself. Ant and Sam leaned over to see for themselves. Their eyes frantically scanned the parchment, searching for any ounce of a lie, but there was none. There was even a signature beneath the document: signed _Dream_. Skeppy blew up and began cursing every name he knew and every blasphemy he could think of without restraint, his raccoon chittering with the same amount of enthusiasm. Ant and his cat were frozen still with shock. Sam and his creeper looked like they might literally explode any moment.

Bad stared at them, waiting for their adrenaline to fade. They eventually did settle down, with Sam patting his creeper as it hissed with content, and they turned to Bad, waiting for his decision. To their surprise, the brunet was playing with the strings of his hoodie, looking miserable upon the received news.

Skeppy frowned. “Bad?” he asked carefully. “Are you okay?”

Bad waved his hand, sighing. “Yes, I am, Skeppy. Thank you.” He pulled at the strings. “It’s just that this war would mean that the casualties we will suffer will be worse than any war we’ve seen before. The full moon doesn’t just allow familiars to lend you their strength – it’s a direct bond between you and your familiar. If one of you dies, the other follows. It’s this fact I’m concerned about.”

Sam chuckled dryly, trying to put off some lingering fear. “Yeah, we all know this,” he agreed. “It’s practically suicide to fight on that day. No one’s stupid enough to listen to this, right?” He picked up the parchment and shook it. “It’s just a piece of paper.”

Ant glanced at him. “It’s signed by Dream.”

Sam snapped at him, hissing. “It means nothing.”

“It means everything,” Bad interrupted. “Dream is the most powerful person in this world. Just because we don’t feel the need for a war doesn’t mean the others don’t as well. Take Tommy and Schlatt, for instance; they’re already at each other’s throats and this is an outlet for them to beat each other up. A _legitimate_ excuse.”

The three fell silent. They knew he was right.

“But what are we going to _do_?” Skeppy asked, holding Rocco closer. “I’m not risking my familiar’s life for some stupid war.”

Ant and Sam voiced agreement. Like Skeppy, they held their familiars close, their protective instinct settling in as the threat of their safety loomed overhead.

Bad clipped the bridge of his nose. “Of course we’re not going to get involved,” he said as a matter-of-factly. His friends breathed a sigh of relief. “ _But_ —” The trio tensed up, their smiles stiff in their faces, “—we will be at the battlefield. We will stop the war if anyone— _anyone_ faces lethal danger.”

They all agreed with their strategy and went about their breakfast, but it was no longer peaceful. They wouldn’t stop eyeing their familiars, who were growing uncomfortable with their constant supervision. Even if they weren’t going to participate in the war, Dream had achieved his goal: unsettle the rest of the world as he sat on the top, emerging victorious regardless of the one who lasted in the war.

“What are we going to do, Tommy?” Tubbo rasped, trailing behind the blond as they stormed towards the others. “We can’t go to war! We can’t risk our familiars!” His bee buzzed agreement, poking from tuffs of his caramel hair.

Tommy was stone-faced, walking with long strides and heavy steps. Henry flew by him, barely uttering a squawk. “Of course we can’t risk it.” He stopped in his path and turned to Tubbo, expression wild. “But don’t you see, Tubbo? _War_. We never had a reason before, but we can finally use this as an excuse to take Manburg back. L’Manburg can be whole again.”

Tubbo stared at him, bewildered. “You can’t be serious!” he cried. “Not during the full moon, at least! It’s too dangerous!”

“There _is_ no other time, Tubbo!” Tommy grabbed Tubbo’s shoulder. “We tried diplomacy for nearly a year now, but we’re always turned away before we can even enter his doorstep. Do you think Schlatt would be willing to hand over his land just because we asked nicely? Do you think we can reclaim our fatherland just by saying ‘please’? No, Tubbo! You know this. You were there with me every time.”

The brunet wouldn’t meet his eyes. Spoons buzzed worriedly in his hair. Despite the worries and taboos, the younger was making a fair point, but still… “But, Tommy—”

“We won’t even have to bring our familiars,” Tommy blurted, voice strained. “We can leave them back here, where it’s safe. That way, they won’t be hurt _and_ they can still lend us their strength. Someone can stay behind and look after them just in case—it’s a perfect plan, Tubbo!”

Tubbo couldn’t even begin to count the amount of mistakes and holes in his plan – but the expression on Tommy’s face was something he only saw twice. The first time was when he challenged Dream to a bow duel, and the second and final time was when the election results began to pool in. Now, it resurfaced, just before the most outrageous war that could ever happen to them and the entirety of mankind.

Part of him wanted to believe this was the best decision, but there’s more to consider. He wasn’t secretary of L’Manburg anymore. He was the president of the nation they lived in. Before, he’d often make mistakes when he helped Wilbur bring his coffee. Now, he couldn’t afford any, as the price he would pay was far too high.

“Tommy, I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Tubbo admitted. “We might outnumber Schlatt, but Dream’s already said he’s going to be on Manburg’s side. He’ll do anything to keep the conflict between us going.”

“Which is more reason why we have to settle this all at once!” Tommy snapped. “We take Manburg back and L’Manburg can be whole again. We’ll regroup and gather more resources with more manpower and Dream can’t stop us then. Tubbo, please, this may be our only chance. For L’Manburg.”

Tubbo pursed his lip, his instinct going against the very things that his best friend was saying. He would usually follow his ideas, but that idea involved war. It was the last thing he wanted and the only thing he was trying to avoid.

“We’ll ask the others,” Tubbo decided, looking away. “We’ll have a vote. Then we’ll decide what to do.”

It wasn’t the best answer he could give, but it was the best response. Tommy finally relented, releasing his shoulders and stepping back, drawing a shaky breath.

“Fine,” Tommy breathed. “That sounds like a good idea.”

Tubbo nodded to the blond, and together they headed towards where the others were.

There was an uneasiness that coursed through Karl’s body when he learned that Quackity was thrown out of Schlatt’s office just the other day. He prayed it had nothing to do with the sudden surplus of golden apples and potions that came into their supply this morning. If Ponk was any help, he at least tried to reason with Schlatt about this unknown decision, but he came out of that same office cursing into the void.

Like every other time, he had no idea what was happening. He and his husky sat at the porch of his house, looking at his allies rush about with supplies and documents. Due to his identity as a part of the powerful Beast nation far away, he was left out of the conflict, presumably to keep him safe. It bored him. He was essentially the rich, sheltered kid in this world, who’s also seen as a soft boy who can’t defend or make decisions for himself.

“Hey, who’s a good boy?” he giggled, scratching his husky’s chin as it wagged its tail joyfully. “Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy? You are, you are!”

It stuck its tongue out and drooled on the floor.

“Hey, Karl!” Karl’s moment with his familiar came to a stop as he was approached by Quackity, whose familiar was waddling behind him with loud quacks. Quackity was holding onto a massive pile of files and documents, of which have surpassed his height. “You mind lending a hand?”

On the way to Schlatt’s office, with Quackity’s duck sitting on Karl’s husky’s head, they distributed the paperwork amongst themselves and merrily (not so merrily) skipped to the building. On the way, Karl managed to catch Quackity in a conversation, since he’s been buzzing around like a bee and never having time for one.

“Are all these for Schlatt?” Karl asked, staring bug-eyed at the papers. “No wonder he’s in such a bad mood all the time. How does that man sleep?”

Quackity huffed. “He downed like thirteen bottles of protein shake. You do not want to be near that guy anytime soon.”

Karl chortled with laughter, nearly dropping the papers in his arms. Quackity whipped to him in alarm, but breathed a sigh of relief when the papers and his friend was safe. He turned back to their path, the wooden pavement replaced by blackstone and stone bricks.

“So,” Karl started, swallowing, “what’s all the fuss about? Is there anything special happening soon?” He bit his lip as Quackity’s eyebrows began to furrow, despite never turning to the brunet. “Quackity, you can tell me. I’m your friend, aren’t I?”

Quackity clicked his tongue, glancing to the opposite side of where Karl is. He hummed with hesitation, as if reliving the very moment that his life was turned upside down just because of a stupid piece of paper and a president drunk on latte-flavored protein shakes, who is also obsessed with weights and dumbbells. Shuddering, he turned his attention back to their walk, barely paying any mind to Karl’s question.

“Come on, Quackity. No one tells me anything. I joined this nation for a reason and I wanna help out. I can’t do that if I’m left in the dark again.”

Quackity bit his tongue. Karl sounded really desperate, and he may be his only choice for enlightenment. A horrible decision, really—but he’s got his own problems going on and he didn’t think Karl would be so enthusiastic about the happenings in the nation.

“Fine.” Quackity sighed. He swiveled to Karl, turning serious. “But don’t tell anyone that I told you this, okay? This is top-secret.”

Karl beamed. “I won’t!” he promised.

Quackity nodded, then looking around to look for anyone nearby. There was nobody, just the way it should be. Cautiously, he leaned towards Karl’s ears, breathing out as the words flowed into his tongue.

“Schlatt’s hosting a circus.”

Karl blinked, confused. “What?”

Quackity nodded again, whipping back to his front. “Yeah! Man thinks our nation has no attractions other than the Pokimane statue BadBoyHalo built a while ago. It doesn’t even belong to Manburg! So, he’s planning to capture all the exquisite animals and put them in one spot. For example: the green screen blob man; the trans, half-salmon half-fox but human hybrid; a colorblind man and many more! Aren’t you excited for the grand opening? He thinks it’s going to be _cat_ astrophic.”

Karl didn’t laugh. He stared at him with a blank face.

Quackity sighed, lowering his head. “Fine, fine.” He stared at the documents he was holding. It was now piled up to his chest, as Karl had taken half the load. “Dream declared war on familiars. It’s going to happen on the night of the full moon, where both human and familiar are at their strongest.” He subtly glanced at the familiars trailing behind them, playing with each other without a care for the world. “Schlatt thinks this is a good opportunity to finally take L’Manburg. He’s sending us off to war.”

For seconds, there was no response. Out of curiosity, he turned to his friend, who’d gone silent after endlessly pestering him for answers – Karl was wide-eyed, his mouth slightly ajar and his footsteps coming to a halt. He eventually stopped in the middle of the road, and almost dropped the documents in his hands. Quackity stopped with him, whirling his body to face the shorter.

“Why?” Karl asked, horrified. “Why would Schlatt agree to a war about familiars?”

Quackity shook his head. “Why’d you think Schlatt’s been investing in so many potions?” He freed a hand and put it on Karl’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, kid. You’re not in the war. Besides, Schlatt thinks we’re safe with all of these potions and armor – but in reality, no one’s safe from anything, especially from others who are actively out for your life. But hey.” He managed a smile. “Everything’s going to be okay, alright? Don’t think about it too much.”

Karl was silent, but he continued forward. Quackity retracted his hand and followed after his friend. The familiars behind them sensed the nuance in their moods and quieted down, whimpering and quacking in concern for their humans.

Quackity sighed and carried on with his duties.

“Dream is out of his fucking mind,” Sapnap growled, crumpling the parchment into a ball. “There’s no way we’re going to listen to him. If he thinks we’re going to march into war with our familiars’ lives on the line, he’s got another thing coming. What’d you say, George? Do you think Dream finally lost it?”

The two rarely saw eye-to-eye, especially with their clashing personalities, but George found himself nodding along to Sapnap’s rant. “Yeah. Bad and Ant are in a different faction too. There’s _no_ way we’re going to fight each other. Hunters stick together – and that will never change.” He held his cat closer to him. “We can’t just let this happen, can we?”

Punz snorted. “Are you serious? You’re going to sleep through it _again_.”

George glared at him. “Oh, shut up.” He turned back to Sapnap. “So, what do we do?”

Sapnap shrugged, his face red from fury. His wolf was trying to calm him by putting a paw on his lap, but it did nothing but fuel his anger for the absurdity of the war. “You’re asking _me_?” He scowled at him. “How am I supposed to know? Bad’s the one that tells us what to do but he’s a million miles away. We don’t even know whether if he agreed to this or not, since Dream loves to dote on him so much before he left.” He shuddered. “Maybe _that’s_ the reason why he left.”

“You’re not helping!”

“I’m sorry, do I look like the guy with great ideas? Why don’t you strip in front of your boyfriend and _seduce_ him into taking back this stupid declaration!”

“What the heck? Do you even hear yourself right now? He’s _your_ childhood friend—not mine. If anyone should be asking him about it, it’s you.”

“Yeah? Why don’t you—”

“GUYS!”

The two turned to the platinum blond, who was snarling and gripping at his hoodie strings.

“Why are you two fighting amongst each other?” Punz chided, barely holding himself back from going feral. His parrot parroted his words like a cursed radio, adding colorful words that described his frustration. “Dream wants war! He wants the entire world! So why are you two bickering with each other like three-year-olds? What happened to _hunters stick together_? Is that just some fancy quote you two snipped from a yearbook? Stop yelling about who’s going to fuck our leader and start _doing_ something!”

Outraged, he snatched the helmet from his head and slammed it to the floor. With an exasperated look in his eyes, he stormed out of the base, his parrot trailing behind him. The aftersound lingered in the air, especially noticeable in the sudden silence that remained heavy between them. The hum of his words and the door slamming behind their friend was fresh in their ears, like a high-pitched wail that shrieked inside their skull.

Sapnap and George refused to look each other in the eye, but they knew Punz was right. The blond rarely acted up and responded to nearly every tragedy with a helpless smile. But as they were facing the consequences of their leader’s mindless decree, the nerves must have gotten to him, just as it’s gotten to everybody else.

George shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Sapnap coughed and shuffled his position.

“I know what we’re going to do,” Sapnap said calmly, earning George and the familiars’ attention. Sapnap sounded as serious as he could be, the lack of joyfulness in his tone proof of such. “We are going to contact Bad and Ant.” He pet his wolf’s head. It grumbled softly in delight. “Then we’re back to the hunting grounds. One final hunt under the light of the full moon. It will be the day we fulfill our purpose and the day Dream’s reign comes to an end.”

He turned to George, reaching out an open palm. “What’d you say, George?”

George stared at him as if he were insane, but he slowly saw logic and sense in his speech. Shaking his head, he nodded valiantly, taking the arsonist’s hand with a passion.

“Hunters stick together.” George smiled.

“Bad?” Skeppy peeked into the vault, only to find his friend curled up in a corner, hugging his knees and digging his nails into his elbows. Skeppy’s eyes widened in shock, immediately shutting the doors and racing to the man’s side. Kneeling down beside him, he set a hand on his shoulder, only noting how tense the older was. “Bad,” he tried again, this time softer. “Bad, is everything okay?”

Like a spell, the man shot up, blinking at his friend in confusion. “Skeppy?” he asked to no one but himself. “What are you doing here?”

Skeppy frowned. “This is the mansion’s vault, not somewhere private,” he snipped. “What happened to you? Is everything fine?”

“Yeah, I am.” Bad looked to his friend with questioning look, as if he was the one insane and not him. He scratched his head and stretched his limbs. “Why’d you ask? Is there something you need?”

The tanned man’s face hardened, his lips twitching with words that did not come out. Getting to his feet, he casted one final glance to his friend, before steeling himself for the truth.

“Bad,” Skeppy said carefully, walking on thin ice, “the war is now.”

Bad blinked at him.

The war didn’t take place anywhere near the Badlands. They received the decree like everybody else, but they were still considered a neutral faction that had no issues with others. Besides, compared to Manburg and L’Manburg, they were too far and unfit for a battle to take place. So, unlike the others, the members of the Badlands were to take the long route, and travel to the two nations in a boat.

Despite the lingering threat, they couldn’t help but make fun of their situation, having to _row_ their way to victory in comparison to the others marching to theirs. They would go down in history as the faction who arrived to battle in boats. Maybe the chapter that would sing their name would be titled: The Rowing Boys. They wouldn’t know, because they’d be dead by the time the history books were going to be taught to a bunch of snotty fifth graders.

Skeppy splashed water onto Sam’s face. Sam retaliated by throwing his oar at him.

“This is stupid,” Skeppy murmured, the oar sailing over his head. It landed in Bad’s hand just before it fell in the water. “We could just kick back and relax. We’re not even being attacked. We’re the ones sailing over there to our deaths!” He tapped the motor at the back of he and Bad’s shared boat impatiently. “Why can’t we just use these? Why must we do manual labor before we die? Come on, Bad, you’re not making any sense.”

Bad glared back at him. “Because we don’t want to make any sound.” He tossed the oar back to Ant and Sam. On each boat was a dim lantern hanging by the head, just barely enough to see the other’s face. “Manburg has a port by the waters. If we get caught, it’ll be difficult for us to remain neutral.”

“Who cares if they catch us?” Sam demanded, half his body hanging from his boat with Ant. Ant did all the rowing and he kicked Sam’s side. “We’re going to be exhausted by the time we get there. We might as well just set up tent and their port and roast marshmallows and wait for them in blankets!”

“Sounds better than what we’re going to do,” Skeppy muttered, fidgeting in his seat.

Then there was silence. Sam bit his nails and looked around anxiously, despite there being nothing but the endless sea. Ant’s shoulders were tense but it wasn’t because of the labor. It was because that they were far away from their familiars, the animals left behind in the mansion where it’s safer. Skeppy glanced up to the sky. The moon is almost in its place. There was a thick fog around them, with only the thin lights of their lanterns piercing through.

The boat jutted abruptly, surprising Bad and Skeppy. Ant and Sam followed, their boats colliding with something solid.

Bad and Ant exchanged knowing glances. “We’re here,” Bad said.

They could already hear the echo of war nearby.

“Surrender, TommyInnit,” Schlatt boomed, holding a sword to Tommy’s throat. The teen was groaning on the ground, teeth gritting as his hand scrambled around for his weapon. “Surrender and I’ll spare your life.”

Tommy hissed, flinching away as the tip of metal grazed his chin. It was cold to the touch and unbearably sharp – he didn’t want to imagine the devastation it would cause once it was through his flesh. “Never, goat man,” he clapped back, mouth running wild despite being at the end of a sword. “As long as I breathe, I will never surrender L’Manburg to _you_.”

Any second now; Tommy painstakingly glanced up to the sky, bits of the moon blocked out by leaves and branches. The moon wasn’t in its place just yet, but it will be soon. _Come on_ , he thought desperately, eyeing the sword and the madman that wielded it. _Can’t time go any faster?_

Schlatt grinned. “Is that so, Tommy?” He retracted his sword. “Then I’ll just have to make sure you aren’t.” He raised his sword and brought it down. Tommy’s eyes widened as he instinctively raised his hands, turning his head away as a scream died in his throat. But before the sword could even brush his skin, Schlatt’s body was unexpectedly knocked to aside, a choking grunt coming from the man before he was thrown across the floor and into a tree.

Tommy, realizing that his life had been saved, blinked rapidly before turning to his savior. His face broke into a grin as he recognized the figure. “Tubbo!” he cried joyfully, taking the brunet’s hand as he pulled himself to his feet. “You saved me!” He made a break for his axe, which was laying abandoned a few feet from him. “Thank fucking god! I almost turned into SkewerInnit!”

Tubbo returned his smile, but it was strained. “Yeah, I did!” His voice shook, face red with adrenaline. “That was scary, I’m not gonna lie. Please don’t ever get cornered by Schlatt again. Or anyone, for that matter.”

Tommy nudged his elbow, grinning. “Of course I won’t! I’m going to beat up everyone that stands in my way. Right, Tubbo?”

Tubbo swallowed. “Um, yeah, whatever you say, Tommy.” He took a step back as the fallen president rose to his feet, a murderous expression plastered on the psychopath’s face. “Uh, Tommy?” In the dark of the night and with his crumpled clothes, Schlatt looked every bit like a monster, causing Tubbo to want to make a beeline towards the nearest adult and cling on them like a child. But he can’t run now – his friend needed him here.

“Yes, I see it, Tubbo.” Tommy’s face steeled. He raised his axe to meet Schlatt’s challenge. Tubbo fumbled to unsheathe his sword from its holster.

Schlatt snarled at them, swinging his sword around. His grip was loose, as if the sword could go flinging at ay moment. “You dare defy me?!” he barked. “If you love your nation so much, then _die_ with it!”

Tommy took a brave step forward, forcing Schlatt to take a step backwards. “Your side is losing, Schlatt,” he boomed. “The full moon will be up few moments. There is no need to drag our familiars into our mess. Surrender.”

A new voice interrupted, “Why not?”

Tommy and Tubbo froze in their places, remaining rooted in one spot. Only after a few seconds did they find their courage to turn to the voice, only to find another familiar face emerging from the shadows like a ghost. A face they knew well but it was not welcomed.

“Dream,” Tommy spat as if his name were poison. “What are you doing here? Whose side are you even on?”

Dream tilted his head, his true intentions hidden from the whites of his mask. He was hefting a sword over his shoulder. Striding between Schlatt and the teens, he turned to the blond, pointing his sword at him. Tommy gritted his teeth but there was no surprise, like he expected this outcome from the very beginning.

“I’m on no one’s side,” Dream declared proudly. “The only side I am on is the side of _chaos_.”

Screams pierced through the forest like an explosion in a pile of wool. Tommy whipped towards his unseen friends in horror, only to turn back to himself in mild shock as a red hue emitted from his body, like mist from dry ice. He turned to Tubbo and realized that his friend was covered in a similar hue, only green. Schlatt was too, only his color was gold.

Tommy shot his eyes up to the sky. The moon was at its peak. The bond between their familiars and humans have been strengthened – which meant anything that happened to them now, their familiars would share their pain and fate.

“Tommy?” Tubbo asked.

Tommy grit his teeth. “What, Tubbo?”

Tubbo’s voice was barely a whisper. “Look at Dream…”

Tommy followed his friend’s words. His eyes widened as soon as his gaze landed on the man. _No—it can’t be—_ this wasn’t possible. By all means, this shouldn’t be happening. They can turn water to ice by walking on it and they can imbue magic into apples, but this was something that wasn’t supposed to happen no matter how many moons were in the sky.

Like the rest of them with familiars, Dream’s body was glowing a jade green, despite having no familiar.

“Sam, you and Ant will go check on the North. Me and Skeppy will go look for the South,” Bad instructed, his voice raised as they parkoured through the trees. The grass below them were stuck between charred, withered and bright flowers, an indication of a battle happening only a while ago. Bad landed on a branch as Skeppy swung past him with a vine. “If you see anyone’s lives are in danger, step in and help them but that is it! Do not get too involved with the conflict!”

“Aye, aye, BBH!” Sam cried, feigning a mock salute was he grabbed onto another vine.

Bad rolled his eyes, preparing to head out to South with Skeppy. But before he made another move, a voice called out to him and Ant, forcing the Badlands faction to remain still in their trees. He looked down below.

“George, Sapnap!” Bad called out, looking down. Sapnap’s arm was raised, waving to catch his attention. “What are you guys doing here?”

The arsonist cupped his hands around his mouth. “Dream’s lost his mind!” he yelled. Beside him, George plugged his ears. “We can put an end to all this madness!” His mouth broke into a grin when the two shared a look of understanding. Sapnap heightened his volume, as if chanting a war cry. “What do you say about one last hunt?”

Bad was hesitant to reply, so Ant did it first. Just as Bad tried to call out to him, he leapt down from the tree and joined the two in their conquest for a head. He could feel Sam and Skeppy’s eyes on him, their gazes questioning him for his reluctance. If anyone— _anyone_ stood a chance of putting a stop to Dream’s dementia, it was them. The group of people who’d hunted the man down for months.

Bad sighed. “Skeppy? Sam?” The two turned to him. “Stay safe.”

They saluted and disappeared further into the woods.

Bad made his way down from the tree, joining his fellow hunters in this final hunt. They were buzzing with excitement – not for the thrill of battle, but for a little reunion they shared in this very moment. In spite of his frayed nerves, he managed a smile. They haven’t seen each other for so long.

“So,” George spoke up, the first to break their giddy smiles, “what’s the plan, Bad?”

The brunet’s smile faded. “Plan?”

Sapnap crossed his arms. “Yeah. Plan. Plan to defeat Dream?”

Bad’s face colored. “Well—I didn’t think of one, since my team only came here as a recon—” A thought popped into his head. He stopped himself and coughed into his fist. “I have one, now. But there’s one thing we all need to agree on.” They leaned closer to him, eager to listen to the conditions of said plan and their chances of winning. Bad cleared his throat. “We are not to harm him in any way. All we need to do is restrain him, and that is it.”

That sounded like the worst condition they would have to agree to. With the moon approaching its high tide, it would be practically impossible to have a fight without any sort of injury. Still, harming anyone during the full moon was taboo, and they would rather not break it.

Ant was the first to nod. “Alright.” When Bad made any plans, he was always the first one to agree. His trust in him was admirable, but Bad sometimes worried about such trust. “That sounds reasonable. I’m down with that condition.” He frowned. Bad almost breathed a sigh of relief. At least he didn’t follow his orders blindly. “But how are we supposed to restrain him without harming him? It’s Dream. We could barely catch him with actual weapons and potions of harming.”

Bad smiled bitterly. “Here’s how.”

Dream huffed, sweat glistening on his skin as his sword bounced back from Techno’s. “You’re pretty good for someone who farms potatoes all day long.” He thrust his sword forward to Techno’s shoulder, only for it to be blocked with another firm blade. “I’ve got to admit; I’m impressed by your skills.”

Technoblade didn’t react. “Oh, glee.” He parried Dream’s attacks with ease, adding more force each time to assert his dominance over his enemy. “Praised by the enemy. What honor.” They were both surrounded in hues, albeit sporting different colors. Pink and green clashed with each other, sparks flying from their blades.

Earlier, Techno had arrived confused and grumpy, the only reason for his attendance was Philza, who’d asked him to protect his younger brothers from Dream. Philza may be away, but his most powerful son was nearby. He knew that Techno could never say no to his father. He also didn’t know Dream had a familiar. Everybody told him that Dream didn’t, but they were all _lying_. If they weren’t, Dream should not be powered by a familiar, unless his familiar was a ghost and that is too not possible.

For hours, they exchanged blow after blow, traded strike after strike. Tommy, Tubbo and Schlatt watched them battle like watching a match of demented roosters. Tommy and Tubbo had their swords drawn, but they were torn between awe and concern for their older sibling, wondering if they should help out or just stand and gawk at his skill. If they were to help, they’d just get in the way. Schlatt was cheering for Dream like a creepy cheerleader, demanding him to turn Techno into bacon.

It would’ve gone on for forever – with the blessing of their familiars and their talent and skill, it would have never ended. Even though Dream having no familiar before, the blessing he received from his familiar was far stronger than anything they’ve ever seen before, gifting him strength and speed that were otherwise unachievable. Techno’s familiar was a hog, gifting him instincts and strength, but his skill outmatched Dream in common terms. Their fight was an even match. It was the tale of the sharpest sword colliding with the sturdiest shield, with the question boggling everybody’s minds.

Who was the victor?

Dream’s ankle twisted. Foot caught in a crevice in the floor, he found himself leaning backwards, his body falling through air. He grabbed at air, trying to regain his balance, but all he held was wind and cold, cold defeat. A sword was turned onto him as soon as his back hit the ground.

Techno was panting heavily, his shoulders and chest heaving as he emerged victorious. He’d won, but there was no smile or grin on his face. There was no sign of victory in his expression. He did not care whether if he was thrown into the slums or held up on a podium. The only thing he thirsted for was the thrill of battle.

“You lost.” Tommy and Tubbo went wild. Tommy cheered loudly and Tubbo followed suit. Their screams hurt his ears, but it brought a grin to his face. It really has been a while since he’s talked to them, isn’t it?

Dream’s expression was still unknown, as his mask was still covering his face. Though, there were the faintest of cracks on the peripheral of the ceramic, gained from the roar of the battle. His entire body was tense, shaking. He wasn’t used to being on the losing end, it seems.

“You got your ass kicked, Dream!” Tommy whooped, punching the air. “How does it feel to _lose_?”

Techno snorted. He ignored Tommy to the best of his ability. “Now, Dream,” he rumbled, gripping his handle tighter, “say hello to my mother for me.”

Tommy’s face fell. He knew what those words meant. “Wait, Techno—”

Mirroring Schlatt from only moments ago, Techno raised his sword.

Only to find history repeat itself, but at a greater price.

Techno froze in his spot, his arms still raised, but his hands loosened as his sword fell to the ground in muted clatters. A warm, numb feeling erupted in his abdomen, the warmth quickly spreading throughout his lower body. New adrenaline gushed in his veins, alarms screaming like sirens in his head.

“TECHNO!” Tommy cried, but even his boisterous voice sounded far away.

He looked down to see a sword protruding from his stomach, having run through from his lower back.

Technoblade fell to his knees, his body shaking.

Tommy and Tubbo rushed to Techno, but Dream had already regained his footing, and swung his sword in a wide arc, forcing Tommy and Tubbo to stand back. Dream breathed a sigh of relief, clamping his hand over his mask and removed it, revealing a scar running along his right eye, the scarred eye milky white instead of emerald like the other.

“You don’t have to protect me all the time, Bad.”

Behind Dream was a figure, but it wasn’t human. Its skin was void. It had no mouth, no nose, only a pair of glowing white eyes that held no emotion. A pair of horns protruded from each side of its head.

“Well,” Bad said, its eyes closing as if it were smiling, “you’re always so reckless.”

In the forest, as Sam searched for anyone else that needed help, he came across a stench of blood somewhere along the way. Poking his head towards the origin, his mouth hung open into a scream as three bloodied figures laid mangled in the midst of the forest, the exact place where they’d been separated from Bad and Antfrost. Only now Bad was nowhere to be seen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation nobody asked for.

“Little boy sitting by a bookshelf

Watching all the other boys play

He asked, ‘Mommy, can I join them?’

She said no, boys like him don’t play

Little boy sitting by a piano

Hearing all the other girls talk

He asked, ‘Daddy, can I join them?’

He said no, boys like him don’t laugh

Little boy sitting by a sword

Seeing all the other kids go to school

He didn’t ask his parents, ‘Can I join them?’

They already said boys like him don’t need friends

Little boy sitting on the rooftop

Staring up into the night sky

Someone asked, ‘Can I join you?’

He saw a smiling boy instead of a beast”

Dream stared at the stranger who’d appeared right by him. “Who are you?”

The boy smiled at him, hugging his knees tighter. “I’m your familiar.”

“It’s been a while, Bad.”

“It really has.” Bad covered his face like he was putting on a mask. In one single, effortless swipe, he transformed from a void-like creature to a familiar face, as if he were a regular human being all along. He faced Dream with a bright smile, like he wasn’t the one responsible for the sword in Techno’s stomach.

Tommy and Tubbo were on each of Techno’s side, both of them sharing the same type of panic as they tried to keep their voices down. Schlatt’s laughter echoed in the night, especially heavy after blood was drawn. It was no longer blood for the blood god. It was blood _from_ the blood god.

Tommy whipped to BadBoyHalo with a scowl. He rose to his feet, fists clenched tightly by his sides. “How could you?” he demanded. “Do you know what you’ve just _done_?” He put on a brave face, but the shakiness in his voice gave away his true emotions.

Bad had the audacity to tilt his head and look guilty. It boiled Tommy’s blood. “I’m sorry, Tommy.” He sounded genuine, but he didn’t sound like he regretted it. “But Dream’s safety comes first.” As a familiar himself, it was something he knew he must do and there was not one ounce of reluctance nor lament. He would do it again if need be – it was like a hero taking down their beloved friend after they’d gone astray. They would feel bad, but it was the right thing to do.

Dream put his mask back on. The green aura surrounding him glowed brighter than before. “Don’t apologize, Bad. It is the way of war.” His words drew Tommy’s attention onto him, his foul mouth following.

“Way of war? You cheated!” Tommy boomed. “Techno won the duel fair and square. If it wasn’t for your pesky _familiar_ butting in and sticking his sword into places where it shouldn’t be, you wouldn’t have this advantage!”

“That is what familiars are for.” Dream didn’t stop to think. “They protect us just as we protect them. This trust goes both ways.” He widened his arms, gesturing around the forest and the war ongoing in different places, “Yet when I look around, I see no familiars, as if you all don’t trust them to be by your side at this very moment. This is a war for familiars, is it not? So why do I see none?”

Tommy’s face darkened. “You’re not just a tyrant, Dream.” He raised his sword. “You’re also a madman.”

Bad stepped forward, putting an arm out to shield his human. Tommy can’t get past the fact that the man that stood between them, the man that he knew for months and the man he cussed out in their first encounter, wasn’t a man at all. He was another familiar, just like his eagle and Tubbo’s bees. Familiars are protective of their humans, and this was proof. Dream was insane, but Bad, the most logical one out of everyone, went against all reason to protect him.

“Don’t you dare, Tommy,” Bad said, smile wiped from his face. “You’re only going to get hurt.” His eyes were glowing bright green, but that was normal for a familiar. Not for a human. His gaze landed on Techno, expression turning soft. He turned back to the teen with a stern face. “You already lost. Any further of this foolishness would lead to one of your deaths, and it won’t be mine. When will you open your eyes and realize that you could have avoided all of this conflict? When will you learn that this war was merely a choice that you _chose_?”

The young teen faced him with a somber glare. Bad sighed, already well aware of his character from their various interactions. But if he didn’t do anything rash, Bad won’t have to act. His only duty was to protect Dream only when his life was in danger. It had been the same way since he was a child. Bad was usually easygoing, carefree and a kindred soul, but the only thing he could be described as at this very moment was a two-faced traitor. Even if he was only fulfilling his duty as a familiar, he’d angered Tommy in a way of how a traitor would’ve.

Because that’s what BadBoyHalo is; a traitor to the world and his own friends.

Techno coughed up blood, the liquid dribbling down his chin. His arms were holding onto the handle of the sword in his stomach, but he didn’t pull it out just yet. Holding onto Tubbo’s shoulder, he grunted as he pushed himself to his feet, but his legs were visibly shaking from the lingering pain.

“How?” he demanded, spitting out words like venom. Tubbo glanced at him worriedly, while Tommy whipped around in conflicted concern. Techno’s body was unbalanced, leaning to one side as he tried to remove the sword from his stomach. “How can a familiar be human?”

Bad didn’t answer, but Dream did. He sheathed his sword by his waist. “Listen, Techno.” His tone was low and his voice raspy, presumably recovering from the fight earlier. “Familiars are the things that make us complete. They are a direct reflection of our soul and they change with us.” He paused, turning his head to Bad. Bad didn’t bother to turn, like everything that made him BadBoyHalo was wiped from the face of the Earth. “What happens if from birth, a boy riddled with loneliness, but still forbidden to see anyone but his study? What do you think they need the most?”

Neither of them answered. This time, Bad’s eyes slid to his human, but his face remained empty. It was the answer only known between the two of them.

Dream lowered his head. “A _friend_.”

There was a heavy silence that followed them afterwards. With a guttural cry, Techno yanked the sword from his flesh, blood spurting as the metal slid out of his body. Crimson liquid splattered the ground around him, a sickly mush-like sound riddled the ears of anyone who listened. Tommy’s face paled, forcing him to abandon his stance on the enemy and rush to his sibling’s side. Tubbo was already digging out potions and apples from his pouch, shoving them into Techno’s hands which he accepted in a heartbeat.

Dream watched their pity parade with much disinterest. Sensing his victory, Dream nudged Bad’s elbow, gaining his attention. “Bad, we should go.” He spared another glance at the desperate siblings. He met Tommy’s glower, but there was no power behind that anger—the tears in his eyes proof of such. “We’re done here. L’Manburg has lost.” He turned to leave, but he stopped in his footsteps when Bad didn’t follow. He turned back to the place where they once stood, frowning as he realized that the familiar was standing in place, eyes fixed on the siblings. “Bad?”

Bad didn’t turn to him. Dream’s frown deepened. “Bad?” He followed Bad’s gaze, only to find that he wasn’t staring at the siblings at all. His eyes were past their shoulder, into the woods, and onto another figure. The newcomer stared on with horror, barely hiding himself amongst the trees.

“Bad?” Skeppy echoed, his voice far away. “What did you do?”

Skeppy hadn’t known what to expect. His mission was simple. Help the losing side and prevent as much injuries as possible. On his way, he’d helped Karl get to safety after he was getting hunted by Fundy; he got Niki and Wilbur out of a forest fire that was thankfully maintained; and he even saved a bunch of rabbits on the way. He wasn’t extending himself too much, and his familiar’s blessing made it easy for him to see in the dark.

But then, as he approached the further end of the South, he saw people. Not just a few, but a whole parade of people gathered in the midst of the forest. From a distance, he couldn’t tell who they were from their silhouettes alone. He needed to get closer.

Only now he wished he hadn’t gone closer.

“Bad?” Skeppy repeated, surprised to see his leader so far out – _alone_ nonetheless, especially with Technoblade and three others. “What are you doing here? Weren’t you supposed to be with the hunters?” He remembered that much. Ant and Bad were called by Sapnap for the hunters to hunt Dream down to put an end to all of this. But Bad was here out in the open, and the other three were nowhere to be seen. If Bad had volunteered to be the bait, it would make sense, but why was Schlatt, Technoblade, Tommy, and Tubbo here?

Bad didn’t look particularly excited or shocked to see his friend find him. His arms hung loosely by his side, his expression sporting a regretful tint. “Skeppy.” Even his voice sounded off, like he was a whole different person altogether. “I’m sorry.”

Sorry. Sorry for what? Skeppy braved himself to take one step, then another, and another. He was beside Techno, who was being supported by Tommy and Tubbo on both sides. He jumped in his skin when he noticed the blood splattered across Techno’s tunic, drops of it still dripping from the hem of his clothes. He could smell it, too, the liquid appearing to be recent and emitting from the man himself. What could’ve harmed him?

Bad was their only enemy here, but he couldn’t have attacked someone else. That was the entirety of their plan: don’t get involved in the conflict. As much as Skeppy believed otherwise, the sword behind Bad’s back was gone, and it was now on the ground, bloody and used.

The dread in Skeppy’s stomach grew when Bad didn’t answer. “Bad?”

Beside him, Tommy growled. “You think that’s your _friend_?” he spat, giving Bad a glare. “He’s not your friend.” He whipped to Skeppy. “That thing’s not even human. He’s a fuckin’ familiar!”

Skeppy didn’t think he heard Tommy right. “What?”

“Bad’s a familiar,” Tubbo repeated from Techno’s right. “You know, like our soul animals and all—”

“I know what a familiar is.” Skeppy cut him off. “But what do you mean—” He can’t be hearing this right, can he? He must’ve misheard somehow. They must be knocked silly. If Techno was beaten up, then there’s no chance that the younger teens would have gotten off easy. But when he looked into Techno’s eyes, the man that he’s known for a while now, horror pooled in his gut, his systems refusing to accept the shock.

Skeppy turned to Bad, his expression crumpling into utter disbelief. _No_. That’s not a familiar. Bad’s not a wolf or a cat or even a fish. He was human, just like him. He laughed with him, cried with him and walked with him to make their place as the Badlands. Bad didn’t _belong_ to anybody – he was just himself. He shouldn’t be bound to anyone. Even if he is a familiar, he was so real, so _human_. He was unlike every other familiar who catered to their humans’ needs. Bad was a friend to many and he had a voice.

“Bad, is it true?” Skeppy’s voice cracked. “You’re really a familiar? I don’t want to hear it from them. I want to hear it from _you_.”

Bad kept his head down and picked at his sleeves. There was a faint glow of green on his cheeks, despite carrying no lights. “Skeppy—” He froze, lacking the words. “Skeppy, I—I’m sorry.”

Something in Skeppy’s chest constricted. His lungs were tight and his windpipe clenched on its own. “Bad,” he said again, as if his name were a lifeline. The last string of reality that was of his friend BadBoyHalo. He wanted to scream, but it was stuck in his tongue. That was why Bad didn’t have a familiar. It’s why he didn’t look out of place whenever there were full moons. Every familiar had a human, and Skeppy’s afraid to find out who. Who did Bad belong to? Why was he not with his human?

“Skeppy,” Bad said softly, apologetic. “I’m sorry,” he repeated again, as if the word could somehow elevate the pain that his friend was feeling. He cinched the hem of his jacket, then turned tail and ran. Skeppy lunged at the last second, barely managing to catch Bad’s wrist.

“Bad, please,” Skeppy begged. Bad didn’t look at him, and tears sprung to Skeppy’s eyes. His best friend wouldn’t even turn to him. “I need to know. Please.” His grip tightened, his hand trembling. “Does our friendship mean nothing to you?” When Bad didn’t reply, Skeppy was forced to look up, and he saw Bad looking at something. Something in the forest. He followed Bad’s gaze.

Skeppy released Bad’s shoulder out of horror. Bad used this moment to escape his grasp and flee to his human’s side.

_Why?_

_Why is this happening?_

Even after moments Dream and Bad left, Skeppy could still remember the sight of a white ceramic mask staring back at him, standing alone in a forest until Techno called out his name.

“Punz!” Sam cried, close to tears. He clung to the adult’s jacket, his entire body shaking and racking with fear. “Please, I need your help. Ant and the other hunters—”

Punz didn’t need to be told twice. He put his hands on the teen’s shoulder firmly. “Bring me to them.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream is regretting his decision, but for what reason?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aka, a continuation to a continuation that nobody asked for.

“The little boy now had a friend

Sitting by him on the roof

But the boy wasn’t satisfied

So with tears in his eyes, he cried,

‘I don’t need you!’

He buried his face in his hands and wept

‘I don’t want you as a familiar!

Everyone else has cats and wolves,

But you’re a human boy,

Just like me!’

The boy with pretty green eyes turned sad

He was only born today

Like any other familiar with little children turn six

But if his human wanted something else

Then perhaps he did not want a friend

Maybe, just maybe

His human did not want a friend

But he needed one

‘You’ll like me now,’ the boy with green eyes said

He did not look sad anymore

His skin had turned the color of the night

And his eyes turned snow white

The little boy marveled at the sight

Eyes like stars, and face lit up

‘What’s your name?’ the little boy asked

The familiar had no name, he could not answer

The little boy tilted his head, and said,

‘I’ll call you BadBoyHalo.

Bad because you look bad,

Boy because you’re a boy,

And Halo because your eyes are like stars.’

And thus BadBoyHalo was born

But their story had just begun”

Like every other familiar, Bad is a reflection of Dream’s soul. This means he’s not a living being, but merely an extension of his human’s mind. Familiars are the things that their humans need. Tommy is brash and crude, so he has an observant eagle. Tubbo is timid and sometimes dazed, so his bee is comforting, brave and alert. And like the others, Bad is what Dream is not. Bad is caring, sociable and kind to the people around him. His personality is shaped around Dream’s needs, and Dream had needed a friend.

But not anymore.

Dream wanted more. He wanted to squeeze this world to its core, to let every bit of its power fall into his hands. He wanted to rule the world. He wanted to become the lord. Once, he’d reigned from the shadows, but that life was soon to be over. Gone were the days where he played the fool, and here were the days where he rose to his full glory. Power. It was addicting, it was deliciously suffocating. He desired to own the world. Dream didn’t need a friend anymore—he needed _power_.

And like a familiar, Bad had to change, all for the sake of his human. He was made to make Dream happy, and that was all there was to his purpose. It didn’t matter how many friends he made along the way nor did it matter how loved he was in the community; because the only reason that he walked among them, was to serve a human like every other familiar. It didn’t matter that there were people out there who desperately wanted him back to his normal self, BadBoyHalo only exists as long as Dream needs him to, and that time was over.

“It’s just you and me, Bad.” Dream stood, staring down at the table. There was a chessboard on the table, the pieces moved and a queen down. “We’re so close.” He turned to his familiar, who stood faithfully at the corner of the room. He almost blended in with the darkness, as there were no lights in Dream’s tower. “Soon, Manburg and L’Manburg will crumple, and there will come a time where we will reign supreme.”

From the shadows, a peep of light blinked to life, like a nightlight in the dark. It flickered, comparable to a dying candle flame, but that candle flame was returning to life as if it were a phoenix rising from ash. Growing brighter, whiteness drowning the bits of emerald with every blink, until a pair of pure blank eyes shone in the ink soup blackness. The light they gave off was faint, fractals of light illustrating the frame of his familiar’s face.

Bad opened his eyes fully. They were the only thing visible.

“But.” Dream frowned under his mask. On the chessboard, he resurrected the fallen queen, placing the piece onto the very center of the board. “There’s still one problem left.” He placed another piece around the queen, then another, and another. He rearranged the board from its uniform placement to a circle, where every other piece was facing the queen at the center. The thorn that was still stuck in his plans.

The familiar didn’t answer. His mouth was shut, his body relaxed and placated. He stood still with his spine straight, but there was no tenseness or nervousness in his muscles. He showed no sign of rebellion nor did he utter a single word.

Dream turned to Bad, his hand still on the table. “I believe you already know what I mean.” His lips pursed as his familiar nodded, or he assumed he had. The lights flickered and moved the way someone would have bobbed their head up and down. It was difficult to tell from the dark room. Dream returned to the table, putting both his hands on the table as he hunched over the chessboard, looking down, glowering at the standing piece. “But do you know what I want?”

This time, Bad spoke. Instead of silence, there was a voice. Bad was not like any other familiar. He was human like him, but he wasn’t. He could speak and laugh and cry like everybody else. He could express his emotions the way humans do. But now, whatever came out of Bad’s mouth, did not sound human one bit.

“Badlands.” Bad’s voice was monotone, void of any life and emotion. Dream froze at his tone of voice, his thoughts coming to a halt. Bad was a mindless puppet, existing only fulfil his human’s needs. And his human needed a way to crush his enemies and regain all control. “You want them out of the picture. Removed from the history you are trying to rewrite.” A pause. He was looking for a response. When he got none, he opted to ask, “Am I correct, Dream?”

Dream stared at him, his lips pursing. He’s not sure he liked this version of his familiar better or if he preferred the one before, where he wouldn’t feel like he was talking to a wall whenever he spoke. “Yes,” he forced himself to say. “You are correct. You’re absolutely correct.” Was this what he wanted? A mindless familiar who did nothing but his bidding? Before all of this, before all of the wars, Bad had been the oblivious friend that Dream cared for as he looked after Dream. Now, after Bad had left on his own, separated from his human, he began to change. For the better or the worst, it remained a mystery. There were things in the world he didn’t have answers to, and things he cannot find just by reading an endless number of books.

Familiars are reflections of human souls. They are what their humans are not. Bad was the most loved person in this world and Dream was the most hated. Bad was the one in the backlines and Dream was the one at the very front. Bad was caring and loving but Dream was cold and ruthless. Dream would do anything to achieve his goals, but Bad would rather sacrifice the bigger picture if it meant saving the people around him.

George, Sapnap and Antfrost were all dead, killed in cold blood and their final memories were screams of betrayal. Techno was heavily wounded and he’d prolonged a war that would only result in bloodshed. Tommy had howled at him, demanding why he dared declare wars that were related to their familiars. Dream responded with a scoff then, mocking the teens about his foolishness and his blindness for the whole picture. What were the cost of bringing familiars into battle, if not a little risk?

But things were different. Everything wasn’t the same. If Bad— _if_ Bad were the one put in the line of fire, defenseless against a hoard of enemies, Dream would do absolutely everything to keep him safe. He would run through fire and step on a bed of thorns if need be, all to keep Bad from harm. He knew that humans and familiars had natural instinct to protect the other, but Dream didn’t know how much of his feelings were instinctual and how much were his selfishness to keep his familiar safe.

Dream found himself holding back tears as he brought himself to face his only companion since childhood. Bad’s face was hidden in the cover of the dark room, but Dream knew that there was nothing on his face. No emotion at all. There wasn’t any smiles or meek grins that he would always sport around others. Bad was reduced to a thoughtless being, his only function and purpose to protect Dream and carry out his orders.

 _No_ , Dream bit his lip, his fists clenching. _This isn’t what I wanted_. He’d wanted Bad to rule the world with him. He wanted his childhood friend to see the things he accomplished as he showed them off with pride. But instead of a friend, he’d wished for a weapon. And weapons only respond whenever they were given a target.

With a trembling body, Dream wrapped his arms around his familiar, knees nearly collapsing on itself and onto Bad. Bad was shorter than him by an inch. Biting back a sob, Dream buried his face into Bad’s shoulder, hands cinching the back of his shirt. Bad put his hands on Dream’s back, but there was nothing that Dream could feel. Dream felt no comfort nor any warmth from his familiar. Familiars will become what their humans need and what they are not. But Dream didn’t want this. All he wanted was his friend back.

“Thankfully, all their familiars were smart enough to drink healing potions the moment they were attacked,” Punz heaved a breath of relief, pulling a blanket over Ant as he remained unconscious in Team Chaos’s infirmary. “Like injuries and wounds, positive effects go both ways, so they’re fortunate to have been saved in time.” He turned to Sam, who was applying a thin layer of potion to George’s neck. The Brit was lucky that his throat had regenerated just in time before he suffocated on his blood. “How is Ant’s familiar doing?”

Sam shook his head. That meant he either didn’t know or was devastated about the news. Punz didn’t like the grim look on his face. “Skeppy’s message says it’s fine,” he said statically, voice cracked and raspy. The tanned man had returned back to the Badlands to check on their familiars, where they were safe from the war. Skeppy hadn’t talked much when he hopped on his boat and sailed back. “It’s wounded, but it just needs rest. Familiars heal faster than us, after all.”

Punz nodded. Familiars were things that could be considered magical. Digging into the chest of potions, he fished out a vial of healing salve and poured it onto a clean cloth. He laid the cloth onto Sapnap’s chest, which was an ugly mess of slashes. “Well, then that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” He frowned, oblivious to why the teen was still in such a horrible mood. Everything was fine and nobody did something they regret. Even Techno marched away with his injuries claiming he would be alright and that he hated human contact.

“Well…” Sam rinsed his hand at the sink with a mix of netherwart and water. Washing off potion with regular water was a death sentence to skin, no matter the effects of said potion. “There’s more in that letter.” He ran out of netherwart and water mix. He cleaned off his hand with regular water. “Something that’s supposed to make sense, but it really doesn’t even if all the evidence was laid out for you in big bold letters. Do you get me? It’s like you knew this guy for all your life, but then it turned out he wasn’t a guy at all and he’s secretly a ghost—”

Sam stopped himself before his voice cracked any further. The kid looked like he was ready to burst into tears at any given moment. Both sides suffered certain losses, but neither had walked away winning either. In this war, nobody could be crowned as the victor. Even the neutral parties like the Badlands and Team Chaos were suffering some loss. The only winner was the one who started this all. The only one that dared instigate this war from the beginning and walked away unscathed.

Punz glanced at his silhouette, hunched over the sink and his head hung low. He was a teen alone in a foreign land. One of his teammates was severely injured, the other forced to return to their nation to take care of their familiars, and his leader—wait.

“Sam?” Punz asked carefully.

Sam sniffled. “What?”

“Where is Bad?”


	4. Chapter 4

BadBoyHalo has a dream.

Despite being a familiar, a being that was created to serve a human, he had his own thoughts and desires. No other familiar has shown these signs from birth to death. Then again, no other familiar was another human like him. But was he human, really? Humans didn’t have black skin or pointed horns. Humans didn’t go days without eating or drinking or resting like him. Humans didn’t have the same instinct to protect one another like he did. He was unique, and exists only as long as Dream needs him to be.

They were two souls from each side of the mirror. Yin and yang. One was evil and the other was good. One worked in the shadows and the other burned futures for light. But in kindness there was evil, and in evil there was kindness. Their traits were intertwined, and they could no longer tell apart who learnt what from who. They were born from the same life, but their paths were branched towards opposite ends.

He wanted friends. He wanted to see the world. Bad had wishes that no other familiar had. He wanted to make his own _life_ —but he wouldn’t run from Dream. Dream would still be a major person in his life while he and his friends carried on. For months, that wish came through. Ant, Sam and Skeppy were all his close friends and they even formed a faction together. Dream approved their existence reluctantly, but they were established. He lived a fulfilling and worriless life despite remaining in a war-torn world.

Even so, it wasn’t picture perfect.

Sometimes, Bad would wonder to himself: were these really his own thoughts? Was his mind just an extension of Dream’s suppressed wants? Familiars were direct reflections of their humans, especially to parts of them that they keep under lock and key. Dream is a ferocious ruler than stopped at nothing to achieve power, pushing his friends away for the sake of control. When the others told him about the stories about Dream’s terrorism, Bad didn’t believe that. The Dream he knew wasn’t vicious nor vain; he was just a young boy that never got the love and care he so desperately craved. It was a primal instinct – to be loved and wanted by others. But Dream got none, accompanied only by Bad.

Sometimes, Bad thinks that he isn’t enough. Dream always yearned for more. His greed escaped boundaries and his lust for power grew wild. When it became clear that Bad’s gentle persona would hinder his violent path, Dream let him roam free and find a life for himself, and that was what Bad did. That was how he first met his friends as his own person, without his human lurking around. He was out, but it wasn’t freedom. 

Now the war was growing uncontrollable. Dream bit off more than he could chew. With his allies against him and the major factions turning their swords upon his neck, he was alone. And like a wounded animal, he lashed out, calling upon the same familiar he found a hindrance. The miracle familiar that he was praised for since he was young.

The moment Dream needed assistance in this war, Bad’s mind endured a hard reset. It was subtle, undetectable, but Bad saw the changes in his stance almost instantly. He grew more calculative and suspecting, finding his allies unreliable when they fought alongside in wars. Whenever Dream was in any remote danger, Bad felt it instantly, like an instantaneous distress call only heard in his mind.

BadBoyHalo had a dream once. He stared at the mangled hunters, not an inch of skin clear from bruises or blood. He looked down, taking hold of his sword’s hilt, face an unreadable blank mask.

For the sake of his human, he would let the world burn.

The others were rallying up against them. Bad knew this. Not _them_ , but Dream. Dream was the only person they despised, and Bad was just another person who liked to hand out muffins. But their souls were linked, and all of Dream’s burdens would be shared between them.

If Dream is unhappy, Bad is unhappy.

If Dream is happy, Bad is happy.

If Dream is hunted down by the world and wanted dead, Bad would not hesitate to paint the skies blood rerd.

His human worked so hard to get where he is now. He’s not going to let the usurpers ruin his human’s work, much less allow them to take his life. Who cares if his human is inhumane? Who cares if he’s the villain in everybody’s stories? To him, his human was always right, and no force in the world can convince him otherwise. To protect him—the human that he was eternally tied to—Bad would dance with the devil and brush hands with fate.

It was only a matter of when.

Bad pressed his back close to the wooden pillars, his presence masked by shadow. His hood was lowered, covering the upper half of his face, but there wasn’t any point to it. He needn’t conceal his face as everybody was familiar with the black-and-red coat he wore. In comparison to his other characteristics, his face was unironically the least recognizable thing. Who needs to remember what someone looked like if they only wear one jacket?

“—Schlatt’s still on Dream’s side,” Tubbo was saying to his residents. His voice was muffled, drowned out by the wooden floorboards. It was as if they were far away, and Bad was listening to them from another room. His ears perked the moment he mentioned his human’s name. “Does anyone have any ideas on how to catch him?”

Bad paid close attention, eyes closing to focus on his hearing. This would be useful information. If he knew what they had in store, he could prevent it from happening; perhaps even sabotage them. The war wasn’t over yet, and any leverage was an important one. Though, he was fairly surprised to hear another voice, one that didn’t ally with L’Manburg’s ensemble.

“I do,” Sapnap’s voice said. “We lure him into a trap, and we kill him from there.”

He received murmurs of voiced agreement. Bad easily differentiated them as the other hunters each. They were _alive_. He nearly bit into his tongue, frustration creeping up his gut as he realized he’d failed in eliminating them. While it’s common for them to discuss strategies and go over the details of Dream’s capture—as they never know when their next hunt may occur—this was a tactic they never got any practical use, and that was to _play dead_. The only time where it become of use was when Bad tried to make them eat their vegetables. He didn’t imagine that they would commence a childish maneuver in a dire circumstance.

This complicates things. If the hunters were actively pursuing Dream alongside many others, they may not win, but his human wouldn’t have an easy time fending them off. He could even die. Bad didn’t like that outcome.

Tubbo hummed, mulling over the proposal. “But how are we going to that?” he countered. “No offense, but you’re not the best at trapping Dream, especially now since your leader’s not even on our side.”

Sapnap growled like a feral dog. “I’ll—no, _we’ll_ think of something.” A loud, resonating stomp erupted through the floorboards, like he was letting out his stress and throwing his weight around. Faint yips from a wolf followed, and the rest was silence. They’ve hit a dead end, even if they were a massive crowd fighting one single person. His human was too powerful for them to take lightly. Bad didn’t know whether to be proud or exasperated.

A chill crept up his spine, like his body was reacting to an attack that wasn’t there. He ignores his instincts and listens. His human’s safety is more important than his own.

“How about,” Tommy started, voice louder than usual as if he were trying to neutralize the tension in the air, “we put something he cares about as lure?”

Bad’s mind began to race. What things did his human care about? There was Tommy’s music discs, his sword… both of which were safely tucked away in different ender vaults. Skeppy had one of Tommy’s discs, and Dream carried his sword with him at all times. Unless they would risk losing leverage, they would have to find other options.

“Then what are the things he cares about, then?” Tubbo asked his friend. Tommy tried to answer, but his words came out as stutters and he shut up almost just as quickly. Bad almost let out a sigh of relief. They didn’t know either, and they weren’t about to risk gambling the discs away for an unknown equation.

In the end, they had no plan, because his human had done well in hiding his tracks and building a defensive barrier in not only his physical base, but also his mind. If they didn’t know him well, they couldn’t use anything against him. His human was safe and nobody dared attack him. The weight in Bad’s mind dissolved, tense muscles relaxing. There was no need to worry after all.

He rubbed his eyes, ready to head back to his base, only to freeze in place as a snarl echoed in his ears. Unlike before, it didn’t come from above. The hostile advance came from somewhere near him.

From above, a third voice interjected the conversation. Bad’s breath hitched as he caught the familiar, monotonous but threatening voice he’d encountered multiple times. A voice that he least expected would come to this entourage.

“There is one,” Technoblade declared with the tone of a hundred kings, prompting everybody to listen to what he had to say. “His _familiar_.”

Bad opened his eyes in shock.

Around him were different familiars of different species and ages, all glaring and bearing claws and teeth at him. At their very front was a dark wolf, its golden eyes burning into his skull. Bad stood frozen, his hand holding onto the handle of his sword, but he did not draw it. Footsteps pounded the wooden floors, past him and towards the stairs, voice calling for their familiars. The same familiars that were out for his blood.

He looked around in a frenzy, trying to find an open space to escape to. On his right was Tommy’s eagle, spreading its wings and snapping at him when he turned to it. On his left was a tabby cat, hissing when he dared get close. Everybody’s familiars were all here, from Tubbo’s bee to Techno’s hog, and they saw him as an enemy of their humans. Bad could see it in their eyes. They were all different species, but they were the same. They exist to protect their humans, and Bad is a threat to their safeties. Like him, they would stop at nothing to keep their humans safe.

Bad clenched his teeth. The footsteps were growing closer to the stairs. He needed to escape. Anything that happened to him would also affect his human. This is not ideal.

“Big E! Where’ve you gone?” Tommy called, voice booming. His eagle squawked with equal volume, luring his human over. “I hear you! Stay strong, buddy!”

Bad glowered at the eagle. The bird snapped at him some more, daring him to do anything out of line. This isn’t a good situation to be in. He took his hand off his sword, and reached into his jacket cautiously, keeping note of the familiars that grew agitated from his movement. His hand touched something circular and cool.

As soon as Tommy and the others reached the bottom of the stairs, Bad threw the pearl as far as he can, the familiars shrieking in alarm as he abruptly disappeared from view, replaced by a fading shower of amethyst fog.

Pain coursed through his body as he landed on solid ground. He stumbled on his feet, barely catching himself as the pain subsided. He disliked teleportation, but that was the only way to escape the angry mob that was eager to maul him. Bad held his head, massaging his temples as he recollected his bearings.

He’s on the Prime Path, at the front of the dug-out tunnel near Tommy’s base. It was too far for anybody to notice his presence, and he doubted the familiars caught his escape route. He was safe, for now, but he was still in enemy territory. This used to be part of the Badlands, where his land stretched from his mansion to Eret’s castle, but he was no longer part of that faction. He was loyal to only Dream, and former relationships could never interfere with his purpose.

He can escape. It’s the perfect time to. He whirled around, sprinting towards the direction of his human’s base. In his run, he caught a shadow emerging from a hidden corner, then the world fell with him.

In his fall, something cool and metallic was clamped around his neck, like a collar for uncontrolled dogs. Except he wasn’t out of control and this was an attack. Bad pushed himself up as soon as he reacted, but a hand on his back shoved him back to the wooden path, knocking the breath from his lungs. Bad coughed, wincing as he turned his head towards the attacker, especially when they unsheathed his sword and took it for themselves.

Just as he was about to catch a glimpse at the figure, the sword clattered to the ground, and their free hand slammed his head onto down before he saw who they were. A high-pitched numbness accompanied the spinning in his mind, thoughts turning sluggish as they restrained his arms behind his back with chains.

“We’ve got ’em,” said an all-too familiar voice. “Let’s dip before anyone comes.”

A swift chop was delivered to the back of the familiar’s head the moment he whipped around to his captors. They breathed a sigh of relief, and one of the three knelt down to pick up the fallen sword.

Bad’s world shut off as his former allies took him back to the same place he turned traitor.

When a familiar is in danger, they have a primal instinct to call out to their humans for help. This too applies to Bad, who’s just like every other average familiar, albeit with the body and understanding as a human. He’s plunged into the darkness of his mind, where there was only him, and nobody else.

He looked around, looking for the familiar figure in green. He was confused, as he saw no one. The Bridge between human and familiar wasn’t supposed to be pitch black either – it was supposed to recreate the place where they first met. In their case, their Bridge painted the roof where Bad first came to life, under the full moon and brilliant stars. But now the only thing around him was murky, ink-soup blackness without an end.

Dream was supposed to be next to him, or at least somewhere close. All he needed was to touch him to warn him about his predicament. A cry for help. But he wasn’t here, and nowhere to be seen. Bad is alone, the Bridge severed from him.

“Dream?” he called, voice shaky and uncertain. His voice echoed into the abyss and he received no reply. “Dream!” he tried again, and had the same results. He was alone here. He can’t reach his human through the Bridge, because it was reduced to nothingness. What had they done to it? Something was interfering with their link. Something outside was actively preventing him from reaching his human. Until he can stop it, Dream won’t know what happened to him.

Bad began to panic, his breathing turning erratic and adrenaline bursting in his veins. His body ached with numbness, his legs giving up on him as he fell to his knees. This can’t be happening. He can’t be separated from his human. They’ve been separated for a long time before, but not like this. Back then, they could at least sense each other when the other was in danger. But now it was as if Dream was cut out entirely. Like he stopped existing.

He can barely hear his own breaths over the pounding in his head.

_Wake up—wake up—wake UP—_

The only thing that escaped his mouth was a cry for help.

Sam expected this outcome. He’d seen and ticked off the symptoms like a grocery checklist. He was a smart man, after all—every spasm, every reaction was just another confirmation of his dread and suspicions: the man that he trusted his life to, was nothing more than a familiar. The familiar of the world’s enemy. The soul-bound entity of the man they were trying to destroy.

During his testing, he’d at least hoped that it was a lie. He wished that Techno and Skeppy were lying or at least gone blind for a single moment, but their statements were now proven as facts, and the proof was laid out right before his eyes. He didn’t want to believe it. Not for a split second. He was usually confident in his calculative skills and creations, but this was one time that his pride began to waver. He must have done something wrong. He must have turned blind. But this wasn’t a math equation or a redstone contraption. It was simple observation, and Sam’s eyesight hadn’t deteriorated one bit.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he turned away from the observation chamber. Inside, his former friend was bound in chains, still unconscious but not motionless. Bad was reacting negatively to being cut off with his human, screaming and twitching despite sedation.

There was no other way to this. The friend he’d known for years was a fraud.

Sam thought back to all the things they did together. He remembered meeting Bad when he was searching for materials in the wild. Sam didn’t like him at first, finding his behavior to be overly paranoid and excessive, but when it was because of his paranoia that saved their lives in the wars, he began to see Bad in a different light. Their friendship had a rocky start, but they would form a faction that went against everybody but each other. The four that had no sides or allies except one another. They protected nobody but their own.

They laughed together. They cried together. They shared painful moments together that strengthened their trust. They were inseparable, until they stopped seeing each other as friends and saw each other as brothers. Diverse and chaotic brothers, sure, but that was what made them family. Except it was all a lie, the façade burning in fire as the curtains fell on the stage. The person that began it all was nothing more than a mere actor starring in a tragic play.

The door whirred behind him, pistons moving as a familiar face entered his lab. Sam turned to Ant, whose expression could only be described as somber frustration. Floof, who stood perched on his shoulder, displayed equal distaste. In comparison to Sam’s grief-stricken face, it was as if their personalities were reversed. Ant was rarely frustrated and Sam was seldomly emotional.

“How is he?” Ant asked, voice tight. It was as if he were walking a tightrope to get to his killer. Only there wasn’t a tightrope and he was coming to see a traitor.

Sam shook his head, releasing a shaky breath. He tried to compose himself in the presence of his friend. “Still hasn’t waken up,” he answered. “Familiars usually enter a violent coma when they can’t sense their human.” Pointing his thumb to the chamber separated by a one-way glass wall, he emphasized his point by gesturing to the reacting familiar inside. He sucked air into his mouth. “As much as I don’t want to believe—”

“What’s there not to believe? He’s a sociopathic liar,” Ant cut him off, with venom in his words like never seen before. “He played with our trust, Sam. He manipulated us to think that he’s being genuine.”

Sam stared at him, disbelief overtaking his grief. Bad used to be one of his closest friends. To know that the persona he’d been putting up was nothing more than a façade, it must have cut him deep.

“Can you blame him?” Sam tried. “He was just following orders. Dream’s the one to blame here.” He hated this. He never understood emotion. They were always unpredictable and dangerous, unlike equations. Math never steered him wrong and he would always get the answers they were intended to give. But this time, he wasn’t speaking out of logistics or analytics. He was speaking out of his feelings, and so was Ant. Like musicians who could communicate with nothing but symphony, only emotion can understand emotion. 

“You know that’s not how familiars are!” Ant flared. On his shoulder, Floof grew restless in response to his human’s outburst. “They don’t carry out our orders. They already know what they want and what we need. All this time, Sam, Bad knew what he was doing and he played us like a fiddle in a solo. Did you know what he said when he attacked me that night?” His eyes flashed murder. “Did you _know_ , Sam? What he said to me, George and Sapnap?”

Sam shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Ant looked past Sam’s shoulder and glowered. He glared at the unconscious Bad, who wasn’t aware of their conversation. His hands itched to draw his sword and run it through the traitor’s neck. “He said this, Sam. These very words,” Ant growled, still looking at Bad with burning hatred. “‘ _Long live chaos_.’”

Skeppy waits for Sam and Ant to leave Sam’s lab. He waits for them and their familiar’s silhouettes to walk out of his base, towards the nether, and into the portal where they would return to mainland. Then, after he was sure the coast was clear, he snuck into Sam’s base and made his way into the lab, his raccoon tucked away in his hoodie and its head poking out from the collar.

The lights were off, so he maneuvered around to look for the light switch. It didn’t take long for him to pick up the soft sobs and whimpers from the room, which prompted a spike of anxiety in his chest. His tongue dried up like a desert, fear unfolding in his chest. His hand eventually found the switch, and his fingers turned numb when he pressed down, lungs constricting as the lights came alive.

Before coming here, Skeppy had did his best to prep himself for the mental roller coaster he was about to face. When he, Ant and Sam managed to capture Bad, his friends’ faces were nothing more than unreadable masks, wearing emotions that felt wrong on their faces. He’ll admit, he wasn’t on board for drugging his best friend, even if he wasn’t who he claimed to be and is nothing more than an extension of his enemy’s soul… Bad was his best friend. It didn’t sit well with him. None of this did.

He approached the glass wall that reached from the stone ceiling to the brick floor. Putting a hand on the cool glass, his vision turned misty as he recognized his best friend thrashing about in his unconscious state, calling for help despite haven’t come to. Bad’s arms were restrained behind his back by chains, linked to a hook in the wall. It was to prevent him from escaping – but the only thing that Skeppy could see was that they were treating him like an animal. Sedated, stripped of freedom and severed from his human; it was as if Bad was nothing more than a feral beast.

They wouldn’t treat their familiars like this, but they would to their enemies’. It was the only thing that could prevent them from alerting their humans about their whereabouts. This was a resort they never took before, no matter how many times they were beaten down, but they’ve used it for his best friend.

This was wrong. _All of this was wrong!_

Skeppy wanted to go over to Bad and comfort him. He wanted to wrap his hands around him and tell him everything’s going to be okay. But he can’t. he might have snuck into Sam’s base and lab, but the only person who can enter freely was Sam himself, and he would never let him. This was the closest he would ever be to him. He pressed his forehead to the glass, tears falling down as he sunk to his knees.

“I’m here, Bad. You don’t need to be afraid…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The collar that Bad is wearing would have more explanations in future chapters but for now have this piece of bbh angst ;)


	5. Chapter 5

It didn’t take long for Bad to wake up, nor did it take much time for Skeppy’s familiar to jolt awake to the sound of chains clanking against cold stone brick. The raccoon stirred from its nap, yipping as it poked its head out from his hoodie, and prodded its human’s chin with its crafty paws. Skeppy groaned and stirred from his sleep, mind foggy and unorganized, only to be hit with cold reality as he was met with a devastating sight on the other side of the glass. He shot to his feet, almost stumbling from his migraine, but he knocked on the glass as he tried to get the other’s attention.

In the containment room was his friend, now fully awake but disorientated. Bad growled like a feral beast, bearing sharp teeth that humans weren’t supposed to have. Like an animal, he pulled at the chains, desperately trying to free himself from his restraints. However, he was proven unsuccessful, as the chains held sturdy and the collar sparked with warning, the red glow lighting up to warn whoever was on the other side of the receiver.

“Bad,” Skeppy called, voice cracking. Bad didn’t notice or hear him. What did Sam say? _Soundproof one-way glass_. Bad doesn’t know that he’s here, nor can Skeppy call out to him to comfort him. Bad was trapped in the darkness alone, probably scared to death from being trapped in a foreign place whilst being separated from his human. Skeppy took a deep breath, pounding at the glass. “Bad, please—”

The collar burst into a massive jolt of electricity just as black began to seep into his skin. Bad screamed, electricity coursing through his body as he collapsed to the ground, smoke wafting off his clothes and hair. Skeppy’s heart stopped, eyes widening and mouth opening for a cry, but his voice never came out. Horrified, Skeppy took steps back, backing from the brutal spectacle he’d witnessed.

What was that? Why would Sam put that on Bad? They were friends. Even if Bad turned out to be a familiar, he was still him. To Skeppy, Bad would always be Bad. Someone who liked muffins and yelled at people when they started cursing. Nothing could change that, despite everything he was seeing telling him otherwise. Bad was gentle and caring, but he’d ended Techno’s life. Bad was kind and loving, but he chose to side with Dream. None of that mattered. None. To him, Bad is and would always be his best friend.

If the world wanted to destroy him, then they would have to get through Skeppy first.

The piston door behind him slid open, and urgent footsteps soon echoed at the corridors that led to this lab. They sounded so distant, so irrelevant compared to Bad’s pained cries, but Sam’s gasp of shock brought him back to reality. Skeppy turned, unmoving to face the green-haired teen.

Sam stared at Skeppy with surprise. “Skeppy,” he greeted, but it sounded forced. “What are you doing here?”

Skeppy wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. His face itched as dried grains of tears was taken with the friction of skin. Through the crack of his hands, he noted that Sam’s face was equally crestfallen, eyes darting between him and Bad like one of them would disappear at any given moment. Skeppy recognized that look—he’d seen it in his reflection in the glass.

“I came to see Bad,” Skeppy confessed. He put his hand on the glass, keeping his gaze on his fallen friend, still weak from the electrocution. “What about you?” His hand closed into a fist as he squeezed his eyes shut, as he’d seen Sam’s wavering expression in the glass. “Here to run more tests on him?”

“No,” Sam said quickly, voice cracking. He avoided eye contact in the reflection, bringing his hand to his elbow. “Of course not.” His teeth gritted. “I’m here because the collar alerted me that Bad was trying to escape. That’s all.” His usual casual-going tone was no more, replaced by a hesitant speaker who threaded the ground as if it were shattered glass.

Sam’s words was a push that sent Skeppy off the edge. Scorching warmth began to bubble in Skeppy’s chest, his lungs bursting with air. His muscles tensed and adrenaline roared through his veins, deafening the outside world by drowning his head. _Collar. Trying to escape._ Bad wasn’t just some animal they could contain; he wasn’t a specimen that anyone could control with a collar meant for wild dogs. He was a friend, and friends don’t put friends in chains.

His familiar whimpered, nudging his chest in attempt to calm its human down. Skeppy took no notice—his body was stone and his blood was magma. His arms itched for his sword, and his instincts screamed at him to point it as his teammate. He wanted to cut him down for hurting his best friend. He wanted to destroy everybody who dare use Bad as a tool. Who cares if it’s Dream or Technoblade? Skeppy would give his life to protect his friend and beg on his knees for him. If Bad is safe, even the deepest pits of hell would be tolerable.

The fury all choked up to his throat, but they can’t escape. Skeppy swallowed his emotions and turned to Sam with a blank face. His body urged him to raise his arms and protect Bad from Sam’s experiments. His mind told him to charge Sam and help Bad escape. But this time, logic won over emotion, as he was still painfully reminded that Bad was still Dream’s familiar, the one person who could spell their doom in big bold letters.

“I’ve been trying to make a new monitor,” Sam wisped, shaking his head. He approached the glass and put his hand on the smooth surface. Skeppy pursed his lip, shoving his protectiveness down his throat. Sam can’t harm Bad just as Bad can’t harm him. “One that can act the same as the collar, but can prevent him from escaping or using his abilities without any pain.”

_That’s not any better_ , Skeppy wanted to say. He knew that the worst pain a familiar could ever experience was being separated from their human. He knew this from his own, but he never thought he would live to see the day where this scenario would happen – on his best friend, nonetheless. The world may be cruel, but they never condoned familiar separation. But here they were, severing Bad’s connection with Dream. He knew that if that collar was off his neck, Dream would be alerted of his condition and wouldn’t hesitate to bury them six feet under. Bad’s visibly not himself, and there’s no telling what he would do.

But somewhere in Bad’s heart, Skeppy knew, is that his best friend is still in there, somewhere buried deep inside. For now, he’ll have to wait and protect him from anybody who saw him as a threat.

Skeppy’s voice was void of emotion. “That’s great.” Even so, it was hollow. Empty words that mean nothing. But if it would help Bad suffer less, then he wouldn’t mind as much. This was only temporary until—until what?

What _can_ they do? If they kill Dream, Bad would follow. If they kill Bad, Dream would follow. There’s no doubt that there will be people out there who would target him, since he’s now revealed to be Dream’s familiar. If it meant bringing peace to the world, there will be extremists who sought out the easiest way to end the conflict. Killing Bad. Bad wasn’t as skilled as his human. He was a bigger target than Dream. If it wasn’t for the Badlands kidnapping Bad right there and then, he might be taken hostage by either L’Manburg, Manburg, or even the Hunters.

_Bad would have died_.

He knew Sam realized this as well. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be spending so much time trying to keep this lab and the Badlands’ location secret. Because the moment word gets out, the Badlands’ peace would be ruined for good. The peace they desperately tried to protect from the mainland. Even if Skeppy didn’t agree with Sam’s methods, they had one thing in common. They can’t let anyone outside get to Bad.

Skeppy’s eyes trailed towards the glass as he picked up movement. Bad, with his hands restrained behind his back, managed to get himself to sit upwards, albeit tilted. His skin was tainted with obsidian black that were patches on his face, some overlapping his left eye that turned his green pupils nonexistent. He was panting hard, shoulders rising and falling as his mouth hung ajar, revealing razor sharp canines that could tear flesh apart with ease. Shaking his head, Bad closed his eyes to focus, causing the dark patches to spread over his face like paint, but ultimately failed as another surge of electricity burst through his body. This time, he didn’t scream, but the pain and agony on his face was evident. The black smears stopped spreading, leaving only small blotches on parts of his skin.

Bad’s body leaned forward, but he did not fall. Smoke emitted from his clothes, the ends of his hair singed and charred. He slumped over with hefty breaths, suffering the same damage as before but never surrendering. He closed his eyes and tried again, and the same result happened.

Skeppy wanted to call out to him, to tell him to stop. Before he knew it, his fist was on the glass, vision misted and Sam’s hand was on his shoulder, gently urging him to step away from the glass. Skeppy whipped around and shoved Sam aside, tear streaks evident on his tan skin, and so was his anger and frustration.

“Let me go in right now!” Skeppy roared, pointing at the locked iron door. “Bad’s in there afraid and alone. I’m not sitting here and watching him suffer!”

Sam shook his head, like he expected the question to be thrown in his face from the very beginning. “I can’t let you,” he rasped. “If you do, then he’ll attack you. Your life will be in jeopardy. At the moment, Bad’s unstable and unpredictable—”

“He won’t,” Skeppy cut him off. “I’m his best friend. If there’s anyone he won’t attack, it’s me.” He glowered at the teen. “Let me _in_ , Sam. This isn’t a question – it’s an order.”

He was still the second founder of the Badlands, after all. Even with his frequent absence from the major happenings of their faction and the world, he and Bad stood side by side as they thrived to start renovating this land.

“There will be consequences,” Sam warned.

“And they will be mine,” Skeppy argued. “Anything that happens here is my responsibility. Regardless of the outcome, you won’t be held accountable.”

Sam didn’t move, having a debate with his conscious and his morals, eyes darting between Skeppy’s face and Bad’s shivering form. It didn’t take long for him to express a sigh, walk over to the key panel, and punched in numbers far too quick for Skeppy to catch.

Sam met Skeppy’s eyes. They were cautious and warning. “I was never here.”

Skeppy nodded at him. “I didn’t see anybody.” With a swift move, the door to the containment area slid open, and Skeppy entered the lion’s den.

The moment Skeppy stepped foot into the room, Bad reacted almost instantaneously. In spite of all the injuries he sustained from the electric shocks, his eyes snapped open as he heard the door opening, pushing himself to sit upright. He then proceeded to stare at Skeppy, his intense gaze analyzing the human’s form like a specimen rather than recognition of his best friend.

Skeppy didn’t have much confidence. At most, he was telling white lies that he was ready for this confrontation. In reality, he was not. He shrunk when Bad looked at him as if he were nothing more than a potential threat, muscles tensing as Bad refused to move or utter a word in his presence. Skeppy recognized this behavior well. No matter the species or personality, familiars tend to gather as much enemy information as they possibly can when facing danger. It was primal instinct that befit them and their human.

“Bad,” Skeppy said, mouth drying. “It’s me, Skeppy.”

Bad didn’t look amused, nor did he react to the name. “I know,” was all he said. The hateful expression on his face was alien – something that shouldn’t be seen on Bad’s face. It was full of hatred and fury, like he would run a sword through his throat once he was freed from his chains. It sent chills through Skeppy’s skin, prickling his bones. Bad’s eyes trailed to the wall, where the one-sided glass was fixated. Did he know about it?

Skeppy chewed his lip. For the first time in his life, he was left without a word to utter. Usually, he was bubbly and at times irritating, but he couldn’t find anything appropriate to say in this situation. What was he supposed to bring up? _Hey, I know we separated you from Dream, but he’s kind of a psychopath_ or _Hey, did you know that the entire world is going after Dream?_ Neither were good conversation starters, and Skeppy couldn’t stand silence. He would rather have Bad try to annoy him than just— _this_. A husk of a friend, a shell of who he used to be. He looked the same, but the person behind that face had died long ago.

“Bad—”

“What?” Bad deadpanned, sparing no time to cut his former friend off. His glare was replaced by a frustrated scowl, teeth returning to normal as the black patches disappeared completely. “Why are you here, Skeppy?”

Skeppy’s eyes widened in surprise. “Huh?”

“You have no reason to be here.” Bad scooted backwards, backing away from Skeppy defensively. The chains on his wall tightened as he backed up against the stone wall. “The only possibility is—” His teeth grit. “I’m going to be killed.” The collar on his neck began to spark, the red light brightening dangerously. He took Skeppy’s stunned silence as a yes. Bad’s expression darkened. “Am I right?”

“No!” Skeppy spluttered, almost tripping over his reply. “Bad, I’m here because I’m worried about you. You need to stop trying to escape or the collar will _kill_ you—” His face reddened, shrinking as the familiar stared him down. “I’m here as a friend. Not your executioner.”

Bad looked away from him, face one of disbelief. There was no hesitation when he drew conclusions or second thoughts where he might think about trusting his best friend. Their shared trust crumpled to ash.

Skeppy’s heart shattered a bit. The last time he saw Bad, he was apologizing to him, begging for his forgiveness before he left to his human’s side. Now, Bad was seeing him as his enemy, wary that his life may end in his hand. His head swam, his consciousness doing everything in its power to convince him that this wasn’t real, but the cold air he breathed in painfully brought him back to reality. He looked at Bad with a sorrowful look.

This wasn’t Bad. Bad would never think for a second that Skeppy would betray him. He was happy and optimistic and always clumsy. He wasn’t spiteful or hostile to anyone he met. The Bad he’s grown to love as his best friend is a blatant lie.

“Please,” Skeppy breathed, voice cracking. No. _Bad’s still in there_. Somewhere deep inside of him. Skeppy just needed to remind him of who he was. “Aren’t we best friends? Aren’t we duckie twins?”

Bad can’t be gone. He was too stubborn to give up anything. Skeppy’s heartbeat hastened as he met with silence, torn between hopefulness and helplessness as the familiar seemed to be debating the topic, his lips pressed into a thin line. _Come on, Bad. I know you’re in there_ , Skeppy thought, cheering his best friend on as he gave him his answer—

“We are not friends,” Bad said, void of all emotion. “You’re a threat to Dream’s safety.”

Skeppy’s world shattered into a million shards, standing frozen, mouth hung ajar as he tried to process the shock. At the same time, Bad lunged forward, the hook on the wall giving out as he charged Skeppy, using his legs to sweep Skeppy off his feet. Skeppy fell backwards on the ground with a _thud_ , skull ringing and mind numbing, unable to react as Bad broke free from his restraints, chains falling around him and to the ground in clatters.

He heard shouting. It was Sam’s voice. Skeppy groaned, supporting himself up only to see Bad wrestling with his collar, trying to pull the wretched accessory from his neck as the red light grew brighter and static coursed through the black metal band. Even on the floor and disorientated, Skeppy was alarmed to see Bad’s hands smoking as he clenched the collar, electricity burning his skin the more he tried to yank free. Bad’s face was twisted in immense pain, but he couldn’t get the collar off him even with all his effort.

“Bad.” Skeppy held his head, using the wall to guide himself to his feet. He sounded exhausted, trying to call out his name with the remains of his energy. Bad didn’t listen to him, his eyes squeezed shut as the electric sparks turned brighter. “Bad, stop—”

The door beside him slid open and a hand grabbed his wrist. Sam pulled him out of the containment room without his consent, then swiftly shutting the door before Bad could escape. The back of Skeppy’s head stung, his back aching from the fall.

Skeppy spun towards Sam, cheeks burning. “What are you doing?” he demanded. “Why did you interfere?”

Sam looked at him as if he’d asked him why he shouldn’t fall on his sword right now. “Are you _insane_?” he snapped. “That could have gone so much worse. If he’s strong enough to break through those enchanted chains, what chance do you stand against him barehanded?”

“Bad wouldn’t hurt me! We’ve been through so much together!”

“Didn’t look like that to me,” Sam scoffed, turning to the controls on the other side of the room. With a grim face, he opened a holster and rummaged through his chests for a potion. The vial glowed a dull silver. _A potion of_ weakness, Skeppy realized. He poured it into the holster and shut it, then pressed a button that caused machinery to hum white noise.

In the containment room, an invisible gas emitted from a nozzle, filling the closed space with the potion’s effects. Bad, with charred hands and occupied with the collar, didn’t notice it.

Skeppy paled, shoving Sam aside from the button, but it was too late. The holster was empty. He turned to Sam with horror etched in his features. “What are you doing!”

Sam glared back. “Sedating him, you dimwit! Do you realize what’ll happen if he manages to get that collar off?” he cried.   
“We’d be practically dead! Dream would do everything in his power to eradicate us!”

_[Dream](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A0Q6Yd4dKAg&list=PLXZ7NdSbz7bhSjz7nRY88wXUaJhCFJiUR&index=3)_. It was always because of Dream. If it wasn’t for him, if he didn’t exist, none of this would be happening. None of the conflict. None of the sacrifices. He and his friends would live a peaceful life in the Badlands, building and farming instead of gathering resources and training for war. But no. Everything in this world was centered around that bastard. Everything that was evil always stemmed from him and him only.

But if he didn’t exist, Bad wouldn’t either. _Bad’s a familiar._

_Dream’s familiar_.

A sickening thud resonated from the containment unit, but Skeppy didn’t turn to see it. He was still with shock, face blank like he was trying to express multiple emotions at once, but failing.

Then, he began to laugh.

A sickening cackle, broken and empty. Skeppy fell to his butt, holding his head as unstable laughter erupted from his throat, tears escaping his eyes as it filled the room.

_Dream. Hate Dream. Why does he exist? Why?_

Skeppy punched the floor so hard his knuckles bled. The stone cracked at his attack, jagged pieces embedded into his flesh, drawing blood.

Sam stood by him, silent as he watched wordlessly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new years! Fun fact: I spent my last hour of 2020 watching Barbie: Swan Lake with my mother lmao


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Me and my friends are doing a Minecraft RP and we're planning to stream on Twitch. If you're interested, leave a comment so I can make a discord server to notify you all whenever we're streaming. <3

Dream woke to an empty room and a quiet house. Instinctively, he shifted his lying position to check on Bad. Bad’s bed was placed next to his, only a few feet a apart. It was pristine and untouched, still unbothered – the same way it’s been for the past few days.

He frowned, rubbing his weary eyes and pushing himself up, his bones stiff and muscles aching from yesterday’s training. It’s no stranger for the human-familiar pair to be segregated for long periods of time, but there was an uneasy feeling that settled in the pit of his stomach. They were a danger to the world, after all. Especially now that word of Bad’s identity was spread to the entire world; Dream could think of a hundred ways why they would target Bad.

His fists clenched his sheets. There was no need to worry. Bad’s smarter than anybody and he would know when to run. He would be safe. If he could survive years without him and blend in with the others, he would be fine on his own for a couple of days. Dream trusted Bad with his life, and he won’t do anything drastic to put both their lives at risk.

Dream tried to reassure himself, but the uneasiness was suffocating his lungs, like invisible arms grabbing his throat and cutting off his oxygen. Air couldn’t pass through his windpipe. Logistics told him that Bad would be alright, and he should leave him be. Instincts screamed at him to find his familiar; to loosen the strain on their bond he’d caused. They were walking on a thin line, their relationship broken beyond repair despite their attempts to fix it. They were like a mirror—the pieces can be glued back, but they’d still see the cracks in each other’s reflection.

 _He_ was the one that singlehandedly caused this. He was the one that shattered the glass and tossed it into a fire. Dream held his hands close to his chest and wept for an unused bed.

Bad woke to a furball nuzzling his face. As he slowly came to, he perceived a grey and black patch of fur, and gentle paws patting his head. He couldn’t begin with where his confusion began, but he started by pushing himself upwards, his body heavy and the task proven difficult as his arms were newly restrained behind his back.

He managed to sit upright, leaning the majority of his weight to the stone wall behind him. His eyes fell on the small animal, aware of its beady eyes meeting his, standing firm despite the difference in size. He recognized this raccoon. He saw it almost everyday before he turned traitor.

Bad looked around, but he saw nobody. Skeppy had to be nearby. There was no way that he would just let his familiar run around, especially here. Then again, he and his familiar were both never the ones to abide rules. He wouldn’t be surprised if his raccoon escaped his grasp without warning, but why was he here?

The raccoon patted his knee, as if trying to be of comfort. Bad tilted his head.

“I bet you’ve known all along,” Bad rasped. The raccoon stopped and also tilted its head. Bad chuckled to himself, head shaking. “That I’m like you.” The raccoon nodded. “Why didn’t you tell your human?”

It scratched its head to express his confusion. Despite the fact they were both familiars, they can’t overcome the language barrier they have. But Bad understood this simple body language. It asked: _Why should I?_

Bad sighed. “You know my human, right?” It nodded. He and Skeppy’s raccoon have been relatively close since he’d had to babysit him every time Skeppy messes up. “Everybody wants to kill him. Even your human.” It nodded again to agree. “So why did you not tell him about me?”

The raccoon paused, faltering between his explanation and the way he should present it. It decided to mimic Skeppy’s body language, swinging an axe and pretending to scream at air. Then, it formed a heart with its claws, and finally pointed to Bad, nearly giving the man a heart attack.

“Romantically?” Bad couldn’t hide the horror in his face. It shook his head. Bad breathed a sigh of relief. “As friends?” It nodded happily, overjoyed that it didn’t cause any misunderstandings that might further strain their relationship.

They sat in silence for a while. Bad still had questions that remained unanswered. Just because they were friends doesn’t mean it was worth risking the entire world for. One swing, and the world would be at peace. It was simply illogical. Skeppy always acted on emotion and not common sense, and Bad would have a difficult time trying to decipher him. Perhaps that was what made them friends.

The room was quiet, but Bad wasn’t alone. He always disliked being by himself in silence. Maybe that was also why he and Skeppy grew so close, and why the both of them used to be so clingy. They both resented the thought of loneliness, and they were loud when they were with each other. They chased away clouds of darkness when they were together.

Now that their friendship was gone, Bad felt the clouds returning. His face darkened without his knowledge, only snapping out of his stupor when the raccoon put a paw on his knee again.

Bad smiled at him. “Thanks for being here with me.” The raccoon nodded joyfully. “But… you should go back to Skeppy. He’s going to get worried if you’re gone for too long.”

It scratched its head to express confusion. It pointed to a wall on the opposite of Bad, trying to tell him something. It pretended to be Skeppy, then jabbed a finger to the wall, to the space beyond it.

Bad frowned. “Skeppy’s in danger?”

It shook its head, then cupped both its ears with its paws.

“He can hear us?”

It nodded, pointing even more aggressively.

“From the wall.”

It shook its head.

“Outside?”

It nodded, making the shape of a box with its paws in air.

“A room?”

It nodded, nose twitching that Bad was getting closer.

“Skeppy’s listening… in a room… from the outside.”

It nodded, jumping from happiness. A snippet of exasperation rose into his spine. He was just like his human.

The door opened and the raccoon scurried back to its human.

Ah, he should have known.

“Skeppy.”

“Bad.”

Once upon a time, they were the bestest of friends that anyone could have asked for, but never got. They were the luckiest of the bunch, where they found each other in a world of eternal sorrow. This was true—for two years. But they’ve acted like they’d known each other for many more. They could finish each other’s sentences, and even understood what the other was thinking from a mere frown.

The world was cruel, and often blew out candles of hope that they lit for themselves; a beacon in the dark trampled and ridiculed.

Bad smiled at his friend, sadness sculpting every form of his expression. “I’m such a bad friend, huh?” he asked, tone lighthearted despite the seriousness of his consequences. Consequences for being Dream’s familiar. “I’m sorry. I let you down.”

Skeppy’s lips quivered. He was completely still, but the tears in his eyes gave his true intentions away.

“No,” he stuttered, voice cracking. “You didn’t—”

“Why are you here, Skeppy?” Bad’s voice took a complete 180 turn, all emotion seeped from his voice. “I know you’re acting.” Bad turned to him, ice-cold. “Or are you even Skeppy to begin with?”

Under the impostor’s gaze, Bad rose to his feet, the chains behind him clattering as he was eye-level with the intruder. He met his stare with a glower, never once wavering in spite of his severe disadvantage.

Skeppy spluttered, taking steps back in caution. His familiar whimpered, ears drooping and cinching his human’s jeans with its paws.

“I’m smarter than you think—whoever you are.” Bad hissed at him. “I won’t let you kill me.”

Skeppy’s face morphed into one of surprise, but he recovered. He raised his hand to his face, and began to laugh, his voice sounding completely different than the diamond himself. Bad braced himself, biting his lip as he waited for the first attacks.

“Why would I ever kill you, Bad?” Ponk’s voice hollered, laughing as if it were the most ridiculous idea he’d ever heard. “It’s not like I can—you’re much more important than that!” He sashayed towards the bound familiar, unsheathing his sword but not to harm him. Instead, he reached for the lock on the wall and cut it in clean half. The lock was gone, but the chains still restrained his arms.

Bad glared at the cat killer, sensing ulterior motives.

“After all,” Ponk sang, sheathing his sword and stepping back from him. His eyes turned maniacal. “You’re our leverage over _him_.”

Between them, an explosion erupted from the ceiling and debris rained around him.

The air was knocked out of his lungs as Bad was thrown against a jail cell. He choked, squeezing his eyes shut as a towering figure had his arms raised, poising to maim him further. He waited, with his back stinging and shoulders aching, for the blows to come. To be abused for a human to vent their frustration on him. It didn’t come.

He opened his eyes, expecting for them to attack the moment he did, but Sapnap didn’t. He was panting hard from fury, face swelled red as adrenaline gushed from his self-restraint. With a scowl, he stepped out of the small cage, and slammed the door shut. The iron bars resonated, piercing Bad’s ears.

“You betrayed us. You betrayed our trust,” he spat from outside, venom pouring from his tongue. “You _deserve_ the fate of a traitor.”

He turned on his heel and left the dungeons. Even after moments, Bad’s ears still rang, and he could faintly hear the echo of Sapnap’s footsteps as he stormed off.

Bad grunted, pushing himself up. His arms were no longer restrained, but he was still powerless. The iron bars were made of basalt—stones dredged from the nether that neutralized any familiar magic. He didn’t know why L’Manburg had a use for it before this. Its craftsmanship was top notch, as if designed by someone who was well-versed with rogue familiars. He didn’t want to think about it, but a creeping suspicion lurked in his mind, telling him that he would find out sooner or later.

He tugged on the collar. It sparked as it sensed him trying to remove it. He stopped instantly, freezing as he remembered all the pain he endured in his previous attempts. He was in another place now, but as a same prisoner. He was their bargaining chip to getting Dream, and he can’t let that happen.

There was one difference in this cell compared to the last. Bad looked up to the wall and glanced at the moon and stars outside the window. He was working on a time limit, and he had to escape before then. He can’t let his human fall into danger because of him.

Another full moon was coming.

Young Dream held Young Bad’s hand, the familiar’s face brightening as his human led him to an uncharted forest. They were far from any adult supervision, and Bad wondered with his human had in store for today’s playtime. They haven’t played together for so long, and Bad was ecstatic to know that Dream hadn’t forgotten him.

On the way, Dream didn’t say anything. His back was turned, and Bad couldn’t see his face. His pointed tail wagged behind him like an excited puppy, eyes glittering as he thought of all the things they could do together. They could make flower crowns and braid them in each other’s hair. They could mimic adults fighting and use sticks instead of swords. They could read stories to each other and where Dream would play as the knight to rescue Princess Bad from an evil dragon.

They could even play hide-and-seek—but Bad didn’t like that game very much. Dream would always have him as the seeker and disappear for hours, only returning when the sun set outside. Bad was sad when Dream said he was tired after hiding for so long, and complained that Bad was a bad seeker. He would then go to bed without even saying “good night” to Bad. Then, he would make Bad sleep in the living room because Dream wanted privacy in his own.

Now, they finally could spend time together. Bad’s been so incredibly lonely for the past few months, especially after Dream left to attend school. Sometimes Bad would peek out the window and see Dream playing with other human boys, and never mention them to Bad when he returned home. It’s alright, though – Dream’s happiness came first. That was Bad’s only purpose.

“Where are we going, Dream?” Bad asked, breaking the silence between them. He didn’t know why Dream was so quiet.

Dream didn’t answer. Instead he led him further into the forest. It was getting dark, as the trees were old and tall, and no sunlight could penetrate the roof. Being a familiar, Bad saw every detail perfectly, even the glowing eyes analyzing them atop tree trunks and slithering snakes in branches. He waved at them, giving them a bright smile. They shrunk back to their hiding spots as soon as he noticed them. It didn’t affect him though. Bad sung a tune as there was a skip in his steps, eagerly waiting for Dream to turn around and surprise him with a new game.

They continued walking. Bad didn’t know how long. He doesn’t have the best sense of time, but he felt his legs getting tired, turning to lead with each step. Instead of focusing on his own growing exhaustion, he thought to himself: _Wow! Dream’s so strong! He’s walked for this long and still isn’t tired yet_. Perhaps it was because of his nature as a familiar, to put his human’s strengths before his own weaknesses.

Eventually, Dream stopped in his path, releasing Bad’s hand as he paused to wipe his own sweat. There was no light; it might as well be night despite that it was day. In the darkness, Bad tilted his head as Dream turned to him, putting his hands on his hips.

“Do you want to play a game, Bad?” Dream said, panting slightly. Bad nodded like a puppy wanting a treat. “Okay so, here in the forest, stand very still.” Bad nodded again and straightened his spine, excitedly waiting for further instructions. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Dream began to walk backwards, occasionally glancing back at Bad before breaking into a run. Bad watched his silhouette disappear into the forest, confused. What was he supposed to do next? Is this hide-and-seek? Questions raced through his mind, but he daren’t move. Dream would always get mad when he loses too soon. Maybe he’ll lose if he moves from this spot.

So Bad waited there, standing until his legs turned sore, the thought of going after Dream never once occurring in his mind. This was a game, and he’s going to play it. Whatever makes Dream happy. He would be back any second now, telling Bad that he did good.

Instead, Dream didn’t come for Bad for a very long time.

Bad sat in the grass, still faithfully waiting for his human. Grass scraped his knees and vines grew on his body, but he didn’t move. He was afraid that if he left from this spot, Dream couldn’t find him. He dreamed of the day where he could see his human again.

He didn’t know how many days had passed. He only knew that it was night because of the critters scurrying back to their nests and birds tucking their young in their wings to sleep. When the birds started to sing and squirrels climbed trees to gather nuts, he knew it was morning. Bad lost count after fourteen nights. He didn’t feel the need to count further.

A few full moons happened during this time. He counted them in place of days. His body would glow, showing that their bond was still intact. He smiled at that. Dream was still safe, but he did not come. That made Bad a little sad. He missed Dream terribly.

Bad counted a total of twenty-six full moons. On the twenty-seventh, as his body glowed bright green, a hunter in the forest found him. The hunter brought him back to the village, where nearly everybody there celebrated his return. Bad didn’t know why. He only asked where Dream was, and they brought him to his human.

Bad wanted to cry, but all he gave Dream was a dumb smile and said, “I lost the game.”

To this day, Bad still remembered the disgusted look that Dream shot him when he realized that Bad was back.


	7. Chapter 7

Bad’s eyes fluttered shut as he leaned against the cold brick wall. His limbs ached and shivered from the cold, moist cell; his fingertips numb as the winter nights begin to weave into Fall’s tapestries. Chilly air breathed into his coats and kissed his skin, which he flinched. He held himself tighter, every breath crystallizing to mist.

The only warm device he had was the collar on his neck. The faint red bulb still pulsed faintly, a mixture of magic and electricity humming within its metal crevices. It didn’t feel comforting in the slightest—it was a painstaking marker that pinpointed his status as a prisoner, a _pawn_. He’d been called many names before; many demeaning names, but it was the first time that those insults became reality.

He curled into a ball, stretching his stiff arms out to wrap around his knees. The skin on his joints stung from fresh bruises as he rested his head, trying to keep warm from the unforgiving night. Moonlight poured into the cell by him, never touching him as he was huddled up in the corner where the shadows lurked. It was as if the moon was beckoning to him – its silver glow singing songs and reaching out to comb strands of his hair.

He stayed in the dark instead.

Two days. Forty-eight hours. That was the time that Bad had before the night of the full moon came.

Time was a fussy thing. It trickled like sand in an hourglass – steady and subtly, but one daydream would drown you in a lake of quicksand. It was funny how humans invented time as a concept, as it never mattered to familiars. Familiars only grew as their humans aged. If their humans were immortal, then so were they. But immortality didn’t exist, and forever never lasted. Promises of “forever” was just as sturdy as a pillar of obsidian. Hard, but definitely breakable. Time-consuming, but definitely possible.

Perhaps that was why Bad never believed in promises to begin with. His oaths with the hunters were indeed, just a fluke. An empty ultimatum that would eventually come to light as the dirty liar he is. But is he really to blame? Was his twisted conception of reality caused by his own hand? He supposes so. He can’t blame Dream for his all of his undoings.

_~~He needed Dream. He needed him now he NEEDED him—~~ _

Familiars don’t sleep. They stay up and guard their humans even after the sun has set over the horizon and the moon’s reign stretched across the lands. Despite this, accompanied with the cold air and his distance from his human, his eyelids drooped and his tense muscles relaxed. A daze spread through his consciousness, and he nodded off as he leaned against the wall. The cold, inescapable wall, part of the building that stripped him of his freedom.

He hadn’t slept in ages. He didn’t know why he didn’t do it sooner. The oblivion that you were absorbed into; the ignorance that followed after hours of rest; and the sheer bliss from dreams where everything was perfect, where there were no wars, and everybody needn’t worry about wars nor heartbreak.

A round of footsteps woke him just as he dozed off. He jerked awake, nearly hitting his head on the wall, and glancing towards the wall of bars. The footsteps stopped, and from the moonlight, Bad easily discerned a silhouette that was far too slim and young to be an adult, or a warrior that’s spent years on end in the frontlines with a rusty axe. It was a _child_ , a child who’s been burdened with countless responsibilities and an entire nation.

Bad rubbed his eyes with the back of his palm, wiping the tears from his barely hidden yawn.

“What’re you doing here, Tubbo?” he asked, caught in the midst of a yawn.

Tubbo’s figure froze, as if he wasn’t expecting Bad to be awake, or the lack of hostility that he prepared himself for.

“Um.” Tubbo shuffled in his feet. “You know, it’s getting cold out.” He reached into the gaps between the blackstone bars and handed Bad a piece of fabric. Tubbo tried to stay as far as he possibly could from the familiar. “I found this in L’Manburg’s old party props barrels, and I thought that it may be yours.”

Bad tilted his head, squinting at the clothes that Tubbo was offering. It was colored black and red, which were his colors. The only thing he didn’t understand is that how they survived the carnage and destruction. Getting to his feet, he approached the teen with caution, his hands raised to express neutrality, before taking the familiar piece of clothing.

Tubbo’s hand shot back the moment it was off, shaking from fear that his arm was still in one piece.

Bad unfolded the clothes and held it by its shoulders. It was an ankle-long cloak with a hood that was thick enough to hide his horns. He hadn’t seen it in ages, not since he lost it.

_~~Thick enough to hide his horns~~ _ ~~.~~

Bad smiled at the president, holding the hood tighter than he should’ve. “Thank you, Tubbo,” he said, fist clenching onto the fabric. “I really appreciate this.”

Tubbo stopped shaking and blinked at him. His moods were like a lever; switching between curiosity and fear like nobody’s business. “You’re… not going to attack me?” He gaped. “But… wait, are you even a familiar?”

The familiar chuckled. He put the cloak on, but he was careful to not let the hood touch his head, or let the collar hook onto the fabric’s edges. “Yes,” he confirmed. “I’m a familiar.” Bad sat back down in his corner, now warmer with his long-lost cloak. “I thought that bit was obvious.”

Confused, the teen shook his head, looking around to the empty cells that were never used. Or were they?

“It’s really not,” Tubbo admitted. “If it wasn’t for me seeing it for myself, I never would’ve believed that you’re not human.” He frowned at him. “Are you _sure_ you’re a familiar? You sure you’ve never hit your head somewhere and Dream lied to you so he can feel better about not having one? For someone claiming to be a familiar, you sure as hell don’t act like one.”

Bad snorted, stifling his laughter. The president took pride in this, making himself comfortable as he sat on the outside of the cell, leaning on the wall behind him. It was the same type of wall, but the location of it was what mattered. Tubbo could walk free. Bad could not.

“I’m sure, Tubbo.” Bad sighed. “I am his familiar, whether you like it or not.” He shook his head. “We shouldn’t talk, Tubbo. You’re the president of L’Manburg. You should know better than to talk to the prisoner on death row.”

Tubbo paused. “What… do you mean?”

“Tubbo, do you think the hunters will pass up on the chance to kill me during the full moon?” he rebutted. “If I die, Dream dies. Problem solved. What’s more, is that I broke the Hunter’s Oath. They have every right and reason to take my life, even with your direct orders. A Hunters’ authority will forever outweigh any form of government.”

The president fell silent, like the severity of the situation finally settled into his naïve mind.

“Thank you for my cloak and the talk,” Bad said, turning to face Tubbo with his back. “But we can’t talk any longer. You should leave.”

They were silent for moments where neither of the two moved or spoke. As if the clock stopped ticking and the world stopped turning, neither made the first move to shift or open their lips, like if they were persistent enough, the other would change their minds. But if there was one thing that they had in common, was the stubbornness that led them to persist in this godforsaken world. _The weak don’t survive_.

_~~“The weak don’t survive,” said his human, right after the familiar asked why he was abandoned~~ _ ~~.~~

Bad clenched his fists and whipped to the president, being the first to crack under the tension.

“Leave,” he hissed, glowering, all friendliness gone without a whisper. Tubbo blinked, surprised caught in his face. “I’m telling you now, Tubbo. In two days, if you plan to use me to lure _him_ , he won’t come. Your plan will fail, end in flames and my blood on a sword’s blade.” He turned back to the wall, but this time he looked up to the window, eyes reflecting silver light. “I lied countless times in the past. I do not deny this. But know, Tubbo, there will only be two endings to this story. Either I escape and we both survive, or I die and bring my human to his downfall.”

“You can’t escape and you won’t be killed,” Tubbo argued. “Neither of those things will happen. No human will let their familiar get in harm’s way. Heck, I can’t even let Spoons leave. Say hi, Spoons!” A bee popped out from his hair and buzzed.

_~~“Here in the forest, let’s play a game.”~~ _

Bad lowered his chin, hands reaching up to pull his hood over his head, the obsidian dark horns safely tucked away in the hood’s thick layers. Sick bile crept up his throat, forcing him to cover his mouth with both hands.

“No,” Bad choked out, voice shaking. He covered his ears, static and phantom voices deafening his ears and head. “That’s… not true.”

_~~Humans don’t love their familiars they don’t love them they can’t love them they won’t love them—~~ _

_~~Lies lies lies lies lies lies lies lies liar lying not true fake untrue sugar coated lies falsehoods hate~~ _ ~~~~

“What do you mean it’s not true?” Tubbo exclaimed. “Look around you! Has any human you met let their familiars get hurt?”

_~~Dream his human his owner his master his abuser his human his—~~ _

_~~Abandon not wanted not needed why am I so useless no one loved me~~ _

_~~It’s been so long so dark I want home I want this game to end I want rest I want to cry I want to see him again~~ _

_~~Alone so alone so scared where is everybody see eyes in the dark they call to me they want blood they want flesh they want—~~ _

_~~Silence unbearable silence monsters forest rain storms beasts why is it so quiet why is no one around WHERE IS DREAM~~ _

_~~NO ONE’S HERE NO ONE’S WAITING NO ONE WANTS YOU~~ _

“Wait.” Tubbo’s tone changed. The mood shifted, as if he were coming to a dire realization. He talked to Bad like he was walking on eggshells, afraid of any wrong move that might shatter the batch. “Does… Did Dream hurt you? Does he do bad things to you?” A sad buzz resonated before the bee settled back to the nest, reflecting its human’s horror. “Is that why you spent so much time away from him?”

 _No_ , he wanted to say. Bad’s voice won’t come out. That was the response he was supposed to say. The reply he was meant to give whenever someone slandered his human. It was built into him and he was born with it. He can’t change biology, but his mind was fighting it with every fiber of its being.

His silence was taken as yes, but it was anything but. For the second time in his life, Bad was at war with himself, with the cause of both times being the same person: Dream.

“Oh, god—” Tubbo shot to his feet. “Why is everything ungodly centered around him?” He cinched the bars, teeth clenched as he tried to get the familiar’s attention. “Are you okay? What did he do to you?”

“NOTHING!” Bad snapped, swiveling around to his feet but never moving from his spot. Baring his sharpening fangs, a feral growl rumbled from his throat, parts of his pale skin darkening to obsidian. Only this time the obsidian dark started to crack, revealing magma-like veins running underneath. “He did nothing wrong!”

Tubbo scrambled backwards, almost tripping over his feet. He grunted as his back hit stone wall, his escape being the hallway to his right. He glanced towards the exit, but decided against it as he braved himself to face the uncontrollable familiar.

“Bad, I don’t want you to die!” Tubbo screamed. “It’s Dream who’s in the wrong, not you. We may be enemies and you may have stabbed my brother, but you don’t deserve to suffer with him. I’ll make sure that the hunters don’t hurt you!”

“Dream’s not in the wrong!” Bad lashed. His ghastly transformation spread faster, causing his green eyes to fade to white and his fingers to turn to darkened claws. With the voices of a monster and a human, he bellowed, “He did _nothing_!”

The collar that’s been sparking all this time finally let loose, and Bad screamed as electricity coursed through his entire body, forcing him to his knees and the transformation to be undone. On his knees, he bent over on the floor, heaving heavy breaths as the electric shock dissipated, hairs singed and flesh smoking.

 _This was his fate as Dream’s familiar_.

From the ringing in his ears, he heard more footsteps boom from the hallways, coming to investigate the ruckus he caused. His body refused to rise, his muscles tense and lingers of electricity sparking around his body. The newcomers’ voices were drowned out, their conversations muffled to his screaming ears.

As he recovered, he heard a brief exchange before they ushered Tubbo out of the prison with them.

_“Talking to him is a lost cause, Tubbo. Familiars are strictly loyal to their humans even if they’re put up the chopping block.”_

Of course he would know. Bad had run a sword through him when they met.

He didn’t notice the red light on his collar started glowing violently.

Sam woke to loud beeps and rings. It wasn’t rare for his base to sometimes scream at him for absolutely no reason. One time he fell out of his bed, shocked by the screeching when it turned out to be his potion brewer running low on blaze powder. There were so many machines in his base that he can’t even keep track of them. He’d built a temporary sugarcane farm for paper after forgetting he already had a sugar cane farm in his basement. He’d worried about needing gunpowder for TNT only to stumble upon a creeper farm he made months ago.

Wary, he stumbled out of bed after grabbing his sword from the shelf. His creeper hissed like a deflated balloon and trailed behind him. He fought the distortion from sleep and shook the delirium from rest. He had a general idea of where the alarm came from, and recent events didn’t ease his mind any better.

He would’ve jogged towards the lab if it wasn’t for a familiar blue figure casually sleeping on his couch. It didn’t take any maths or a redstone genius to figure out who it would be.

“Skeppy,” Sam called, heading over to the human. His raccoon was curled up on his chest, seeming asleep but Sam noticed its eyes were wide open and vigilant. “Skeppy, wake up. Skeppy.” He pushed the man’s shoulder, glancing to the raccoon in hopes that it would help him in waking sleeping prince charming.

The raccoon stretched its limbs and ventured on its human’s body to find a right spot. Ears twitching, it found a suitable spot between Skeppy’s legs and smacked it with all the force it could muster.

Skeppy shrieked awake as Sam winced, feeling phantom pain from pure empathy alone. Even his creeper released high-pitched hisses as if it didn’t expect this. Like human like familiar. They were both assholes and jerks.

“Skeppy!” Sam cried, more sympathetic than aghast. “What are you doing in my _base_?” he demanded. “Why are you sleeping on my couch—wait, I don’t _have_ a couch! Where did this come from?”

Skeppy groaned, rolling off the couch as he held his crotch, whimpering from the pain. His raccoon crossed its stumpy arms on the couch, chest puffed out proudly as it witnessed the downfall of its human. An inhumane and humiliating downfall caused by its furry paws.

“This isn’t a couch,” Skeppy wheezed, stumbling to his feet.

“Then what the heck is it?”

Sam noticed that it was covered in a thin layer of blanket. He pried it off with a flourish, revealing a machine that’s fallen sideways. It was colored silver like every other contraption in his base, but he couldn’t identify what it was for.

“I think it’s an old machine for enchanting.” Skeppy’s voice was still an octave higher, as if the life was being squeezed out of him. “There was enchantment symbols and stuff. I don’t even know how you managed to put magic in a machine.”

“My auto-enchanter?” Sam stared closely at the machine. “I built that like, last year. I forgot it even existed…”

The alarm blared in the background, reminding Sam that he was up for a reason. Skeppy reached into his hoodie and scratched his stomach, blinking at the noise while his mind slowly caught back to speed.

“What’s that noise?”

Sam stared at him as if he were crazy. “The better question is that how you’re able to sleep through all of it.” He gestured to the direction of the lab. “I’m going to go check. You can go back to sleep—in the _guest room_.”

Skeppy recognized the direction to where his former best friend was. He shook his head, and claimed that he could follow him down. Sam didn’t question. He’d spent a long time in that chamber, staying with his best friend who’d betrayed them for their enemy. It was no surprise that he would be willing to head down in the middle of the night.

On the way, their journey was silent. Sam wasn’t the one to start up conversations, but he felt the need to at least get a reading on his friend’s input of this situation.

“So,” Sam started, punching in passwords for the lab, “how are you feeling about this whole… thing? About Bad?”

Skeppy pursed his lip, a slight frown seeping into his brow. In his hood, his raccoon chipped and nuzzled behind his back.

“He’s still in there,” Skeppy repeated. It was the same thing Sam heard for days, like his wish would come true if he said it enough times. “All he needs to do is remember that Dream’s the bad guy, and we’re his friends. That’s all.”

That’s not how familiars work. Sam knows this. Skeppy knows this. Their familiars know this. Sam gave a curt nod as a reply, but he didn’t say much. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth to comment, they’ll start bickering from the differences in their views.

“You have to believe me,” Skeppy insisted, voice tight. They reached the lab and Sam reached for the lights. “He’s still—” He froze.

The chamber was in ruins, and the monitors by the walls blared red urgently.

“Ant?” The device in his ear whirred to life, causing him to glance away from his ongoing meeting. “Ant? You there? We need you back at my base now. Bad escaped. I repeat, Bad esca—”

Ant snatched the device off his ear and stuffed it into his pockets. “Sam’s onto us,” he declared, glancing over to the ensemble of hunters. Sapnap and George groaned, and Sapnap took the sword away from Bad’s throat. Similarly, Ant’s eyes fell on the metallic collar around his neck.

“Fantastic,” George muttered. “What are we supposed to do now?”

“Well, first thing’s first.” Ant pointed to the collar. “We need that off him.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consistent story titles and summaries? Don't know her :)

“Are you out of your mind?” Sapnap scorned. He would’ve shook Ant’s shoulders if not for the position he was in. He didn’t trust George to guard Bad alone, as the familiar might overpower the Brit and take him hostage. An underhanded tactic, but they weren’t above petty tricks. _Bad would know. He’d taught them such._ “I might not be as smart as you, Ant, but I know that’s the thing that’s keeping him from going apeshit on us. Did you happen to drop your brain in a gutter?”

Ant looked at him incredulously. “I said we should get it off him,” he retorted, “but I didn’t say _when_. Besides, darkstone nullifies familiar magic. It’s something that Sam didn’t implement in his lab, so it’s why he caused so much trouble in the first place. He’s a genius, but he let his emotions cloud his judgements. We’re not repeating the same mistake.”

“Yeah. And risk him clawing our throats out.” George, for once, was harmonizing with Sapnap. They’ve been agreeing with each other too much for Ant’s liking; he was used to their bickering and petty squabbles. They could argue all they want after Dream’s head rolls by their feet. “Ant, we’re not taking that thing off him. I say we send Dream a message and let L’Manburg wear him down for us.”

“They’d be killed in _minutes_!” Ant flared. They stared at him. He was the last person they would ever think to lose his temper. “Then what? It’s us against Manburg _and_ Dream. Manburg may not have any skilled fighters, but we’re still outnumbered. Then there’s Skeppy—he’s been begging for Bad to recognize him since we got him into that cage. Dream aside, there’s _no_ way Skeppy and Sam will let us get away if we hurt Bad. It would be us against the entire world!”

“So be it!” Sapnap yelled. “We’re Hunters, Ant. Compared to us, you’re newer than the socks my pa gave me for Christmas. You don’t know how it was like when it was just us. We were spat on, ridiculed by nearly every country we come across. I had to stab a queen’s eye out of self-defense and now the entire queendom still has it out for me. George almost died because the Counts tried to drown him in _snake venom_. You weren’t there! You don’t know what ‘us against the world’ is _really_ like.”

George groaned and stepped between the two. He held out his arms and physically pushed them apart. They were so close to each other they would’ve gotten violent if Ant was a little less patient. “Would you stop fighting!” he exclaimed out of exasperation. “We’re _not_ each other’s enemies. We shouldn’t be wearing each other down before the fighting starts!”

Ant and Sapnap turned to him at the same time and scowled. “SHUT UP!”

George raised his hands and took steps back. He leaned on the wall and slid down next to Bad, arms around his knees. The two were still at each other’s throats, with more aggression than before. If Sapnap was fire, then Ant was gasoline. They worked well when fighting against a common enemy but not against each other. One spark of discourse was enough to start a wildfire, despite Sapnap’s developing self-control.

“I don’t know how you handle us every time,” George muttered, turning to their former comrade. Once upon a time, they’d journeyed through countless lands to hunt Dream down. Now, that might be all a lie. “They’re like children.”

Bad didn’t turn. He wiped his neck with his hand. When he took it away, it was stained with droplets of blood. Sapnap’s sword had pierced his skin. “You’ll get used to it,” he said, sighing.

Sapnap and Ant’s screams grew louder. Ant lunged at the taller and took his collar into his fist. Sapnap shoved him backwards, but Ant’s instincts kept him on his feet. Ant’s always had the best balance out of all of them. Sapnap drew his sword and so did Ant, their ideals clashing as well as their blades. Eventually, they took this outside, deciding that their disputes could only be settled by brute force, leaving George alone with their prisoner.

They were left in silence. Bad wiped blood off his hand with his cloak like they were strawberry stains. Sweat rained from George’s back like a waterfall. Was Bad always this quiet? Was he always so somber when they were infighting? George wouldn’t know – he was always the one wasting breath with Sapnap, not Ant. Bad would break them up if he was emotionally available, and they’d know if he was having a bad day depending on how he reacted to their fights.

If Bad butted in, it meant he was stable and capable of handling insults and some violence. They would drag Bad into their mess that would lead them drenched or caked in mud. They would bathe in rivers and dry up by the fires. Neither of them would apologize, but the subtle nudges when they ate or when they shared blankets meant that they were forgiven. The next day would be as if the fight never happened, as their brotherhood forever outweighed their grudges.

But if Bad didn’t, and he allowed them to bash each other’s brains out, they would stop fighting the moment they realize what’s up. They nodded at each other, and would let Bad get some alone time whilst making sure he was safe. Sapnap would hunt for meat while George would cook whatever Sapnap brought back. They let Bad sleep early while they kept watch, while still settling a bet with milder games like rock-paper-scissors or arm-wrestling in hushed voices.

George smiled at the fond memories. Their lives had been more difficult and wary then, but it was more meaningful than anything else. Regardless of the better terms and luxuries he had today, nothing could ever replace the unspoken brotherly love they shared.

His fists tightened as Bad’s gentle breathing reminded him of their predicament. The memory was sweet, like honey and nectar. But he could drown in them if he wasn’t careful—in a sea of oozy, sickly sweetness. Even the sweetest of memories can curdle to vinegar.

“Hey, Bad.”

“Hm.”

George shifted in his seat. He didn’t notice it, but he was closer to Bad than he was previously. “If you weren’t Dream’s familiar,” he started to ask, choosing his words carefully, “would you still choose to be a Hunter?”

Bad didn’t answer straight away. George swallowed, thinking back to something that Technoblade had said to the president of L’Manburg. _Familiars are strictly loyal to their humans, even if they’re put up the chopping block_. He wondered if Bad were the same, as he’d helped them countless times to catch Dream. Heck, Bad was the only reason they ever came close to catching him.

If so, would Bad be able to answer at all? Familiars don’t imagine having lives out of humans. Free roam and free will don’t mesh well together with their loyalty. To dream of a life without their human meant they had the wish to be without them. George couldn’t dream of a world without his cat, no matter how hard he tried. It worked the other way around. The bond goes both ways.

“Maybe,” Bad whispered, surprising George. Even if were uncertain, he was shocked that the familiar even considered it. “The times we had—the memories we shared… I won’t give them up for the world.” He turned to George, the faintest bit of a smile gracing his lips. “So yes – I’d join the hunters, if I were human.”

George’s eyes widened, genuinely taken aback by the answer. Bad’s a familiar, right? It was fact now, with what he’s done. But Bad was just… _him_. His Hunter brethren. His ally. His friend. Why can’t the others see that?

“But I’m not.” Bad lowered his head. “I’m just a familiar.”

George turned to the former hunter, concern flashing for a split second, before blackness consumed him whole.

Bad panted heavy as his hand tightened around the sword’s handle. The blade glinted pure netherite—a mineral excavated from the deepest parts of the nether itself. It was a weapon that only the Hunters had the authority and honor to handle, and he’d forfeit his own. From the very beginning, he’d always been a counterfeit, a fake with gold paint smeared on his skin.

His eyes landed on George, who was crumpled on the floor, unconscious with blood trickling down his forehead. Bad’s knuckle stung—he hadn’t had the need to use violence for a long time, but this was his only chance to escape. The doors were wide-open, and darkstone won’t work unless it’s connected with each other.

 _One chance_. He needed to get this right before Sapnap and Ant come back from their squabble. He raised the sword’s tip to his neck and stabbed once.

A broken collar fell to the ground, shattering to pieces.

Almost in disbelief, he caressed the tender skin around his neck, ecstatic that he was free. He wasn’t collared like a dog or a wild animal or a—

Bad paused.

He wasn’t being collared like a pet anymore.

His head jerked towards the faint echo of footsteps and conversation. After weeks of restraint, blackness melted into his features, like goo overtaking his skin. With bright colorless eyes and a pair of dark horns, he shifted into the shadows, and slithered from the cracks of the wall before he was noticed. They would be too caught up with George before they could realize what had happened.

He was free. There were no chains on him.

(… so why isn’t he relieved? Why was there a shadow in his mind, telling him that he’s wrong?)

Bad isn’t as experienced as a hunter as Sapnap or George. He’s only a few years ahead of Ant, who was grasping the wind quicker than any of them ever will. Bad knows many secrets they use. He knows the type of powder they use when they track footprints. He knows how their campfires smoke smell from the specific type of charcoal they carry around. He was by no means the strongest of the bunch, but he’s excellent in theory and petty tricks.

With his skill, he could escape from the Hunters without any hindrance. He knew all their tricks and weaknesses. He could run circles around them, especially with George down for the count. Sapnap and Ant were fearsome, but without a clear direction, they might as well be headless chickens.

So Bad would love to know the answer to his question. _Why did he go back?_

“You—” Sapnap choked on his own words. He looked like he didn’t know whether to punch Bad, strangle him, or throw him like a potato sack, or all of that in no particular order. Bad stepped out of the reach of his hands. “Bad, are you for real?”

“I don’t know either,” Bad clapped back. He dropped George’s sword on the floor. It fell on the concrete ground in clatters.

Ant stared at him, wide-eyed, massaging his cheeks with his fingers. They looked like they were about to implode on themselves.

George groaned, garbling nonsense from the floor.

“Look, I have no idea why I’m here,” Bad reasoned.

Before, Ant was furious at him, but now the only expression on his face was pure skepticism. He knew Bad before he’d become a Hunter, and he was certain that the Bad he knew, familiar or not, didn’t lose his marbles. Anger bubbled into something else: sheer shock. When hunting, the Hunt had only two outcomes: one, they catch their prey and finish the job; second, they don’t, because the prey escaped and they lost. It was the only 50-50 that they would accept as truth.

But never— _never_ had a runaway prey return of its own volitation. The fish never bites the same bait twice. A hog doesn’t run into a spear after it’s wounded.

Sapnap sunk down squatting. He buried his face into his hands, a scream muffled by his palms. Ant was the only one standing with Bad now, but the fury in his face dissipated, morphing to something else. Something that Bad recognized from Skeppy’s face.

“Why?” Ant demanded, voice cracking. “Why didn’t you _run_?”

Bad blinked at him, taking another step back. _What?_

“We would’ve killed you,” Ant continued, angry façade falling. “We left you alone with George so you can escape.” (They ignored George protesting weakly from the floor.) “The entirety of L’Manburg’s expecting us to use you as bait. The Badlands is after you to do experiments on you—but you come back to us? The ones who’re trying to _kill_ you?”

Bad’s mind drew blanks. This wasn’t what he expecting. He expected swords drawn to his neck and an arrow to his knee. Not a heartfelt confession.

Sapnap looked up, an icy frustration etched into his face. “Go,” he snapped. “Hunters stick _together_.”

Bad froze still, not knowing what to do. One moment they’re trying to kill him, and now they’re trying to save him?

Sapnap shot to his feet after realizing the familiar was still standing still. He stormed past Bad, and glowered at the wall that led outside. He pulled his fist back, but he wasn’t aiming at Bad. With a scream, he punched the wall, the concrete falling to bits.

He took his fist into his empty palm. His knuckles were bleeding and caked with dust. “There,” he spat. “That’s your invitation.”

Instead of running towards the exit, Bad backed away, confusion swirling his mind like a hurricane. He looked to Ant, who was glaring at him to _go_. He whipped to George, who was still complaining about his role and injury but didn’t impede his escape. Then he turned to Sapnap, who wouldn’t even look him in the eye.

“I don’t understand,” Bad admitted, voice shaking.

To Bad’s surprise, Ant wrapped his arms around him. He rested his chin on Bad’s shoulder, but he was squeezing tight as if he were afraid to let go. This wasn’t coming from someone who despised him. This was from a friend who wanted to save each other.

“We’ve always known that you were Dream’s familiar,” Ant said. “Ever since the beginning.”

“… what?”

_Pandas and George squeezed through the cheering adults and tried to see what was exciting them. Maybe a parade had come to this boring town. Or maybe they were finally getting something called sugar. It was difficult to tell, because the adults were so very large and they were so very small._

_Instead of a marching parade with trumpets and drums and confetti, the adults were celebrating a child their age covered in mud, dried leaves, mushrooms and bugs. Pandas crinkled his nose in disgust. “Who is that?” he snipped. “Does he go to our school? Is he I our spelling class?”_

_George adjusted his goggles. “I don’t know.” He sniffled. Adults were large and they were sweaty. “Maybe he’s from another village. Wait, he’s going to Clay’s house.”_

_They watched as the kid was ushered into their friend’s door with no sight of their green-eyed friend. They turned to each other, confused. They didn’t know Clay had a brother. The dirtied kid looked nothing like Clay; the boy had green eyes, but they were darker than Clay’s. Maybe he’s a brother from another mother—whatever that means._

_“We should go ask Clay about it in school tomorrow,” Pandas said._

_Except Clay didn’t go to school tomorrow, and the only thing the teacher told them was that Clay’s familiar had been found, so they would be spending time together._

_Pandas and George stared at each other. Hold up._

“To be fair,” Ant miffed, gesturing to the two, “they were the ones that told me.” He shook his head. “Thing is, Bad, we’ve known all this time, and we were surprised that you’d help us hunt your human. So we decided to trust you—however stupid that sounded. And you’re making us regret it because you’re an idiot.”

Of all the people to call him an idiot, it’s Ant. Sure. Why not. His day was already weird enough. Why not.

Bad swallowed hard. “I—I thought you hated me,” he stammered. His heart pounded on his chest. The only thing Bad could hear was the roar in his blood gushing through his veins. “I betrayed you.”

“We expected it to happen. You’re Dream’s shitty familiar,” Sapnap snarled. He kicked the wall out of frustration, venting his anger out on inanimate objects. “But you’re still a Hunter. We wouldn’t have let you fucking join us if we cared about what you are.”

Bad looked over his shoulder and towards the outside world. It’s been so long since he could walk on grassy floors without chains dragging by his ankles. It’s been so long since he breathed fresh air and not stale air in a cell. It’s been so long since—

 _Since he could laugh and talk with_ his _friends._

The people that cared for him for him. The people that loved him for who he is. They didn’t need Dream threatening them to be nice to him; they just were and Bad treated them with equal kindness. They liked BadBoyHalo because he is BadBoyHalo, not for the title of Dream’s Familiar. (That title gave him the worst rep of the world, he would know.)

“Now _go_.” Ant took hold of his shoulder and spun him towards the deliberately made exit. “Don’t worry about us. Leave and never come back.”

Bad whipped back to them, but Ant wouldn’t let go of him. “Wait!” he cried, but now even Sapnap was trying to get him out. “What about you guys?”

Sapnap scowled, still pushing him further despite they were out of the cell. “We’re leaving this shithole,” he snapped. “We’re quitting the title for good. Dream’s not our problem anymore, and we’re off to do whatever we want.” His hand on Bad’s shoulder tightened. “And you need to get back to Dream.”

Does he? Does he need to go back? Does he _want_ to go back?

They were questions that any familiar could answer within a heartbeat. It was a simple _yes!_ by nodding vigorously. But Bad can’t answer that. He doesn’t know the answer to it.

They reached the port, where they were barely hidden in the curtains of the morning bog. They walked on wooden planks and he knew they were standing on the docks of L’Manburg. He’d been here once before, when he was only known as Bad, the leader of Badlands – not Familiar of Dream.

Their grips on his shoulder loosened, and Bad felt himself falling forward. Instead of bone-chilling water, he collapsed on rocking wood, barely managing to collect himself to his feet before Sapnap cut the anchor ties. Ant pushed the boat out to sea, then standing back.

“Wait!” Bad cried, reaching out to them from the boat. But he was being carried away by the currents, and their silhouettes were becoming blurry. They didn’t react to him but they sent him off with silence.

He can’t jump in the water. It was far too deep and cold to swim. Not with the heavy clothes he was wearing.

Their silhouettes were barely visible now. Warm, hot tears sprung to his eyes, an apology rising to his throat—

His heart turned to ice as Sapnap and Ant had fallen, a looming figure standing over them heaving an enchanted axe. The fog cleared for a split second, revealing them like an illusion revealing through a window of mist—and Bad saw them. The painfully familiar face contorted in violence, the diamond axe dripping with blood. Two younger figures emerged behind him, and they dragged Sapnap and Ant’s lifeless bodies away.

Then the mist faded as the sun rose. Under light, the docks were now empty, leaving only a bloody trail behind. A trial that led straight to the city of L’Manburg.

Bad’s veins turned to frost. His breath scorched his skin. An unholy scream burst through his lungs, exploding through his throat, but it could not come out of his mouth. His mouth hung ajar, but no voice came out. It was survival instinct—to not make a sound when your life’s in danger. It was engrained into him as a Hunter.

For the first time in his life, Bad wanted to abandon all reason in his life, just like how his friends abandoned them for him. But he could not, as the dark seeds of his past remained like a lock in his heart, the key melted in magma and scattered to a million shards.


	9. Chapter 9

Diamond blue pierced the sky as the sun began to rise. It was a monotonous ceremony that’s stood the passing of time, unaffected by the conflicts and heartbreaks crawling on earth. The sun and sky were forever, but tears and suffering were not. _Temporary_ was a constant in the face of immortality. It was normal for gods to lose things they love, but it was natural for mortals to die with them. There was beauty in fleeting time, like a butterfly that perished after a brief moment of life.

The world was beautiful. The beings who resided it were not.

Like a storm thundering and booms with lightning, the ocean rocked his boat, bone-chilling wind biting at his exposed cheeks. Clothes thoroughly soaked and dripping, he tasted salt every time he opened his cracked lips. Though, he wasn’t sure if it was really seawater, or it was his own tears pooling from his tired eyes. The waters leeched warmth from his skin like a vampire’s ghostly touch. He chewed his lips and hoped that they haven’t gone blue—though some part of his mind doubted his capability to express such human traits.

Bad coughed up a mouthful of water, throat burning and dry. The saline content stung the wounds he’d chewed in his mouth like fire ants eating at his flesh. Waves crashed into him as if the very ocean despised his existence—like nature was trying to be rid of a freak born from their kin. Frail, calloused fingers digging into the planks, fingernails scraping wood and splinters cutting in the flesh under his nails. His wounds bled crimson red, staining the wood regardless of the tides slamming into him, and was quickly washed away with foam.

He lived at the cost of his friends. At the price of the people who sacrificed themselves for traitorous scum like him. The cost was far too great, and it has become a brand in his skin that will never heal. His shame, their last words, the faces they wore when they sent him off to a life he did not want. He’d forfeited far too many things for his human. All the time, in human school, human children were taught numbers and spelling. They were told that they would accomplish many great things if they put their minds to it. He watched Dream come home from school every day, bringing papers and ink with knowledge that all the children learned.

He remembered wanting to learn. He wanted to sit by other human children, holding coal-wrapped pencils while they listened to the teacher’s guidance. He’d carefully write every letter and inscription down, without any dark dust on his parchment except his little hands by the time he was done. He would run in the fields with them, playing games that he’d stand a chance of winning. He could laugh and scream and speak without his human telling him not to. Maybe he could even make a friend. A _real_ one. But that wasn’t what happened. Reality was often disappointing just as illusions could poison someone’s mind with lies.

Instead, he would sit at the corner of Dream’s room, lips sealed tight and tail wagging behind him. He’d try to look over Dream’s shoulder as he breezed over his homework, using up bottle after bottle of ink every week. Bad always saw his human superior to others; all familiars did, but Dream _is_ better. He’d learned to use quills far earlier than any other children, and he’d write all his homework with ink and feathers without spilling any ink onto his little hands or his parchment. Watching him write was like watching a witch cast a spell—intricate, deliberate and mysterious.

Dream didn’t like Bad watching him; so he told Bad to sit in the corner and pretend he wasn’t there. It was another game that Bad hated with every fiber of his being; his hatred searing his skin and magma pumping in his veins.

Every time, it genuinely amazed Bad—how Dream would finish his homework, then continue to read books that the other kids his age didn’t understand. Thousands of words were printed on the papers like magic and sorcery, but to Dream, it was just as easy as counting from one to ten. Tiny, sore hands flipped pages on the table, his tentative eyes reading through lines and somehow memorizing details and specific quotes. It fascinated the familiar to no end; and by the end of his book, almost like a routine, Dream would turn to finally get dinner of bread and cheese, and scream. Like always, Bad had snuck from his corner and stare at the books, peering over Dream’s shoulder as he whispered the words he could recognize. Bad was always careful, because whenever he was caught, a punishment would follow. There was a penalty for every loser in Dream’s game, and he was always the second place. He’d spend nights in a small, dark room, with only a blanket to keep him company.

It’s all a sadistic, one-sided nightmare. Yet to Dream, it was only a game. A game he’d win every single time.

From the very beginning, Bad had lost the game of life. Since he and Dream sat on his rooftop, since Dream gave him his name—he was the ultimate loser in Dream’s gamble. He grew up by his side, and he heard many things. Mostly about Dream, and none about him, other than the kids who were infinitely amazed that he was a familiar. He was told that Dream was born lucky. That he was practically god’s gift to mankind. Bad was lucky to be born. He was the useless gift that came with the package. He was the weeds that came with fertile soil. He could have been a regular human child, born from a regular family who let him go to school and play with other children. He could have been what the humans consider normal. But that would mean he’d get a familiar of his own – and he didn’t want to subject an innocent being to serve a fate that didn’t belong to them.

All the adults shunned him aside once they learn of his true identity. He was no better than their animals and cattle they locked in cages. He was only shackleless and free because he was only one step higher in their unfair pyramid.

He hated himself. He hated the very world he was born into. He despised the being that his fate had weaved for him. He felt ugly in his own skin, nausea riddling his mind and his stomach churning. He wanted to rip his skin apart and tear his organs from his body. He was wrong. _Wrong._ Wrong in every aspect possible. He wasn’t natural. He’s a freak. He wanted to throw up but there was nothing for him to empty. His frail body thrashed around the boat as the ocean knocked him around like dolphins toying with a ball. He was its toy, and he didn’t know how long he could last.

They ocean is unforgiving and relentless. It is also deep, its depths unknown to men. He was a mere ant in its eyes, the currents and storms trying to swallow him whole. He’d lived close to the oceans before. The Badlands is a continent surrounded by the seas. But they were far from the coasts, and the only thing they’d had was the gentle waves that crashed by the cliffside, like a white noise that filled in their ritualistic silence. It was calming then, but something so kind and soft was created by this bottomless coffin.

What would happen if the planks of his boat finally gave away? Would he be plunged into the ocean, kicking and flailing for life, breaking through the surface hopelessly finding something to hold? Or would he close his eyes and give his final bubbles of breath, welcoming of the piercing cold that became his final moments? Would a force pull him down, pulling him under and turning ice into his casket? Either way, this sapphire will become his grave, a beautifully tragic memento. He’d be swallowed by the dark sea, then he would be forgotten. Nothing will change because of him.

It was day, but as he approached his inevitable death, he thought of something that no one could ever stop. Two days. Two days until the full moon rises into the sky. Forty-eight hours until he was reconnected with Dream. Forty-eight hours until Dream would know how he felt about him. He would know that he was a failure of a familiar, and he would be hunted down and punished, just like when they were children. But it wasn’t time now. When his final crystals of air was stolen from his lungs, he would die but Dream would live. He would feel his death, but he would not drown like he did. He would be weakened, and the power he holds will be less. His victims would finally have the upper hand to take him down.

A crooked smile made its way to his pale lips. The metal collar was unbearably warm, in spite of his icy skin. Perhaps this was the only way he could apologize to the people he betrayed. He could finally clear the red in his ledger with his own crimson and final breaths.

Dark spots swam in his vision, and his body slumped forward into the boat. He laid in a small pool of water, just barely missing his nose and mouth. It was like lire leeching from his skin, pooling around him like a . He would lie and await his death, just like how every sinner would confess their crimes to the priest to be free of their sins.

He could finally be free. Of Dream, of this world, of himself.

If only his life wasn’t the lower hanging fruits that rotted far too quickly – because as Thanatos tried to whisk him away in the form of his final breath, his boat collided with something solid, like a wall, and he heard a muffled shriek before he was pulled under.

He wondered how fast he would reach hell. Hopefully hell wasn’t so bad as the humans depicted it to be.

When the mercenary’s guts told him his day would be fucked, he didn’t pay much attention to it. He wasn’t ready to prep for a battle that’s most likely his own paranoia acting up, but now he wished he had, even if he had to sit in his seat with stiff armor while he tried to spread butter on his toast. His day was royally fucked, and it was only eleven in the morning. No amount of netherite could compensate for his lousy mood.

What had he expected? Maybe some zombies ate something wrong and threw up on his front porch. Or maybe Comet decided his overdue Christmas tree just looked a bit too tasty—but he doubted that a bear would like overglorified pinecones, mistletoes, fake candy and cinnamon sticks. Maybe someone passed out outside his doorstep. If he had a dime for every time it happened, he would have three, which wasn’t a lot but it’s weird it happened thrice.

But this? Definitely not.

Dream stood by his doorway, armored up with his weapons strapped to his back. It would be intimidating, because Punz was very much unarmed and defenseless in his signature hoodie and a pair of bright yellow shorts. But he wasn’t, because there was a slouch in Dream’s figure where he should have stood tall. He was armed and Punz was not. He had power over him—he always had—but he was physically overbearing yet was somehow lacking in the intimidation department.

“Punz,” Dream started, voice hoarse from lack of sleep. “I’m giving you a job.”

Punz scrunched his nose. “I’d charge you double,” he joked, hoping that the self-proclaimed god knew what a joke was, “just for barging in when I was jacking off.”

The blond studied the God’s reaction, eyes trailing over every movement and twitch from his muscles. Dream wasn’t one to give his intentions away, let alone speak or show weakness in any shape or form, but Punz was surprised to see Dream sighing through his mask, hands trailing over the hilt of his sword. It’s an infamous weapon that’s taken the lives of many innocents. There was blood that can’t be washed away; not with the river of time, not with the tears the killed would shed.

“I need you to find and bring me someone.” Dream ignored him. He would joke around sometimes, taking Punz’s jokes humorously. The guy may be cruel, but he at least had a good sense of humor. He would be a great comedian if it wasn’t for his bloodthirsty streak. “Name your price – as long as you can get the job done as soon as possible, money isn’t a problem.”

Something was wrong. Dream was rich, but he was cunningly smart with his resources. Punz couldn’t count the number of times they haggled over his prices even with both their toes and fingers combined. If Dream was so desperate to find this person, why wouldn’t he start looking himself? Dream was no bounty hunter, but he was no lousy tracker either. Punz swallowed. If _Dream_ couldn’t find them, then what chance did Punz have?

“Who do you want me to find?” he asked, keeping his voice as even as possible. This job wasn’t like the others. It commonly involved some arson, theft and sometimes a kidnapping, but never to find a specific person out of a sea of people and land. “Depending on their location, how much they’ll struggle and their importance; it’ll cost y—”

“I don’t care,” Dream snapped, cutting him off irritably. Gravel blended in with his voice, as if he’d swallowed debris from the roads outside, rock and ice embedded into his throat. “Will you get the job done, or no? I have things to do.”

Punz crossed his arms. He didn’t know how convincing he looked with his current outfit, but he was curious why Dream was so riled up. His composure had dissolved without a trace, his distress evident even with his mask and the armor he cowered behind.

“Give me the details,” Punz relented. His stomach sank, hoping curiosity won’t kill the cat. “I want names.” He shifted in his position, uncrossing his arms. A mercenary’s work was never done – that was his life code. He’d dedicated life to these morals, and he wasn’t backing out any time soon, even if he disliked his clients. But as long as they paid him handsomely, he would bite his tongue and bear it. “And any information I might need to identify the target.”

“You won’t need it,” Dream said. Punz stopped and whipped back, skeptical. “You already know who he is.”

Punz frowned at him. “Tommy?”

Dream shook his head. “No,” he muttered. For the first time, he looked disturbed that the name was presented in his face. Before, the mention of the teen would bring an invisible grin to his face, inducing a sadistic chuckle from him as he pat Punz’s shoulder while giving him orders to kill. Now he appeared to be bothered by the assumption. “You should know by now. With everything that’s going on.”

Now Punz was _thoroughly_ confused. Why was Dream so indirect? He was the most straightforward person Punz had ever met, but as of now he would rather choke on an iron nugget than spit the names out, preferring to give Punz a run for his money just to waste more time assuming who he was supposed to steal.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Punz deadpanned, reaching his wits’ end. “Names, Dream. I need to know who I’m supposed to hunt. I can’t go around the nations asking who has a personal vendetta against you—not because it’s time consuming, but I’m pretty sure almost everybody has a bone to pick with you and you only.”

They must be important to the blond. This wasn’t like any of his previous missions. This was on a personal level, something Punz never thought he would see the light of day. To Dream, _nothing_ was personal. He did things on a basis to sculpt the perfect world he yearned for. He started wars to satisfy his sadism and to weaken all sides for him to take over. Even Tommy – his hatred and interest for the teen wasn’t something personal to him. The boy was merely a plaything for a hungry wolf. A marionette for a puppet master.

Dream breathed in, his posture tensing and shoulders tightening. At first, Punz was worried that he’d crossed a line, but Dream deflated as soon as his anger started to rise, like a punctured balloon. All his pent-up pressure unable to take form.

“Bad,” Dream spat, voice so low that Punz would never catch if he wasn’t familiar with the name himself. “I need you to get me BadBoyHalo.”

They talked prices. Punz didn’t question anything – which was perfect for calming Dream’s frazzled nerves. They discussed their trade like regular times, but Punz noted the emphasis in Dream’s words when he wanted Bad _intact_. It was no secret that his longtime friend was a familiar; the rumor spread like wildfire after the war last month. Everything was to be expected. Every word, every detail.

The words “predictable” and “Dream” did not mesh well together. They were ice and fire. Yet with BadBoyHalo as the topic of concern, the familiar had become the catalyst for the unthinkable. Dream is human like the rest of them, and he prioritized over his familiar more than anything else. He is human. He can bleed. The conversation was coming to an end, judging from Dream’s abrupt silence.

Dream gave him his hand for a handshake. Taking it would mean he accepted the job. “Do we have a deal?” Dream asked, almost threatening. Punz stared at the hand, then to his own fingers. They’ve done this plenty of times. This was familiar territory, with every ending repeating itself.

He didn’t take it. Punz took a deep breath as Dream looked at him through his mask, shell-shocked.

“I’m sorry, Dream.” He wasn’t sorry at all. “But there’s a bigger buyer for your familiar’s name.” He watched the God’s surprise melt into seething anger, his hands balling into fists. Punz’s gut sunk quicker than a ship. “And you know I work for the highest bidder.”

“Who?” Dream growled, stepping closer. Anger fuels people in ways they don’t realize. Sometimes it gives them incentive to do better. Sometimes it causes them to make mistakes. In Dream’s case, anger became the charcoal to his dying fire – the anger of a protective guardian in search for their lost familiar. “Who paid you off?”

Punz kept calm. He’s faced more threats before, and Dream’s was no exception. But something was different. Dream wasn’t angry because of a failed mission or a prevailing enemy. He was furious because the one he cared for was in danger, and the threat was right before his eyes.

“It’s confidential information.” Punz met his glower beneath the porcelain mask. “Regardless of relationships and the amount I’m paid, it is a rule that all mercenaries must follow. All my clients remain anonymous, and you are not my only one.”

“How much did they pay you?” Dream continued his onslaught. “How much? Tell me and I’ll outbid them. Tell me how much they paid you and I’ll do double. There’s no one in this world that can match me.” He clamped onto the front of his jacket, his hands shaking, the horrible reality finally settling into his mind. His breathing turned heavy, a stone weighing him down into the sea.

“I’m afraid they didn’t pay with money or gold,” Punz confessed. “And it’s something you can never outbid. Yes, Dream, you’re undoubtedly wealthy – but not everything can be bought with diamonds nor emeralds. These clients; they’ve paid me something valuable… something that _no one_ could ever hope to match. Not even you.”

Punz is going to die a horrible death in Dream’s hands. He could see the fire in Dream’s soul; the scorching flames fueled by his misguided frustration burning him alive. The fires burned bright, but they asked for more. They ate away his kindness and desires until he was nothing but an empty husk who thirsted for vengeance.

He assumed Dream was going to force him with physical violence. Punz was no match for Dream in his unarmed state. If he had his weapons and armor, he might stand a chance, but not without them. Unarmed Masters can catch Armed Beginners off-guard and emerge victorious, but Dream was not a beginner and he was not going without a fight.

To Punz’s endless surprise, Dream backed away and did not draw his sword. His hostility lingered in his shoulders and his white cover, but the fires licking at Punz’s life withdrew. That doesn’t mean he’s out of the woods, though – he lived for now but only for now.

“You are still of use to me,” Dream rasped, voice shaking. With anger or fear, Punz couldn’t tell. It could very well be a mixture of both. “Your death will result in my setback. I won’t kill you—but I won’t let you get your hands on him. I promise you that. Your clients will be disappointed when you crawl to them empty-handed.”

He stormed out of Punz’s base, almost frantic to find a lead earlier than Punz. His steps weren’t quiet like they should be, and the elegance in his movements was replaced with untamed fury and stiffness.

Punz used to think Dream was an unkillable god. After this incident, it proved otherwise. He is human. He worries, he cries, he screams—all just because of one familiar. Or rather, one person. He shut the doors, washing his fatigue from his head and headed towards the living room for some well-deserved rest.

“You should have just given me back.”

Punz glanced at Bad, who seemed to be shrinking into his seat.

“Not a chance.” He dropped himself into the cushions, landing right next to Bad. The furniture shook and caused the pillows to tremble, but they stayed in place. He turned to Bad, grinning at him, although it looked tired. “You’re my friend. Friends don’t let friends leave with Dream.”

Bad stared at him, wanting to refute his claim, but Punz shut him up by shoving a parchment into his hands. It was a letter, as shown by the texture of the paper and the ink used, and it was for Punz. Bad didn’t know why the man was giving it to him. Clasping the letter’s sides with trembling fingers, he read the sender’s name with some degree of difficultly, squinting at the familiar writing.

His eyes widened. He knew who owned this style, and the name beneath only solidified his assumptions. The final nail in the coffin.

Punz leaned further back into the couch. “Your friends are coming for you.” He glanced at the familiar, smirking. “You’re one lucky bastard.” His smile dropped as the familiar’s expression immediately soured, crystal-like tears pouring from his eyes as he cried.


End file.
